A Lion In Distress
by Jazzola
Summary: When Gene is targeted and abducted, it's up to the rest of CID to find him before he meets his maker. The odds are stacked against them, and the crook seems to keep one step ahead of them... but Alex needs her Manc Lion. Galex. Rated T for now.
1. Chapter 1

BILL-POSTERS WILL BE PROSECUTED, written in black on a temporary card wall, came into sharp focus as a rugged, broad-shouldered Northern man flicked a lighter next to it and lit a cigarette, blowing out a steam of smoke as he walked along down the street, secluded and sticking to the darkness at the side of the street, his black Crombie coat and dark suit coupled with a crimson shirt and grey-striped tie making him look slightly sinister, but in reality, this man was as far from sinister as you could get. The cigarette, finished, was dropped to the floor and crunched between the pavement and the black sole of a snakeskin boot already marked by snuffing countless cigarette butts before.

Gene Hunt paused for a second to stow his packet of cigarettes in his pocket along with the silver-cased lighter used to illuminate the wall and incinerate the tobacco, his eyes darting around the street and down to his pocket as it proved tricky for his slightly numb fingers to open. The December chill deadened his nerves as he tried to slip the equipment in, causing him to fumble and linger further on the street corner, half in darkness and half in the light from a street lamp.

From the shadows, a figure moved.

Gene blew out the last remainder of the cigarette smoke, his bottom lip forming its characteristic pout, his boots clattering against the concrete as he started walking again, rubbing his leather-gloved hands together in a futile attempt to bring some feeling and warmth back into them. His house was only a little way away now, and the feeling of being in a warm building was the only thing on his mind right now; he hurried towards it, rueing leaving the Quattro parked outside the station.

A flash of movement. A yelp of surprise and pain. A clatter of metal on the ground.

And the eerie silence of the now deserted street, only a small pool of blood marking where Gene Hunt had stood.

* * *

_All is quiet… still… and the last thing I knew was the welcome warmth of slumber…_

_Molly is sitting on a fallen tree a little way away from me as I approach her, wearing the suit I was shot in, my head twanging with pain but my body determined. She looks up at me as I approach, and I smile, reaching out to clasp her hand in both of mine as she swings her arm round my neck and gazes deep into my eyes._

"_I thought you'd gone, Mummy."_

_Sadness wells inside me, and my eyes prickle with it as Molly snuggles against me and I feel her cold flesh against mine._

"_Molls, you're freezing!" I gasp, rubbing my own hands on her skin; no warmth makes its way into her flesh, and I begin to panic, thinking Molly's got hypothermia, she's catching a chill-_

"_Mummy," Molly says softly, and then she's gone, vanished in the blink of an eye. I scream her name and hear a reply from behind me, where Molly's standing, her clever eyes sparkling and her arms held out to wrap around my body as I scramble up to her. With relief I note that she is warm again, and her blazer brushes against my midriff as I pull her to me hard, squashing our bodies together and my brain blazing with the delight of holding my little girl once more._

_A shrill ringing interrupts, and Molly disappears once again, leaving only my love for her and for me to swim out of my sleep and answer the bloody phone._

"I'm COMING already!" I mutter, nursing the hangover from Hades and grabbing the handset, holding it up to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Ma'am?"

"Shaz. Why're you ringing this early?"

"Ma'am… the Guv's been abducted."

My blood runs cold as she stammers the word down the line; for a second it's like being back with Molly in my dream when she vanished from my grasp, except this time it's Gene's face who floods my thoughts, the sullen Northern face and the pout he wears that draws me in like a magnet, not that I would tell him that.

"G-Gene? Are you sure?"

"We got a phone call, sayin' that someone 'ad 'im an' they were goin' to let 'im go if we gave 'em fifteen thousand pounds for 'im. I quote: _what price do you wish to put on his life? That's the price I give. _They didn't say where they're 'oldin' 'im, no 'ints at all, but they finished the call by sayin' R.T. I dunno if that means anythin' to you?"

"R.T.? Nothing, Shaz. I'll get down there now, OK?"

Shaz says bye hurriedly and puts the phone down as the sound of the double doors opening comes through on the line. I guess it's Chris and Ray, but I can't be certain, as the phone is down before their voices ring out.

I dress, grab my coat, run a brush through my hair and rush out of the door, my brain already whirring and my thoughts focused completely on the stubborn, bullish, and yet admirable DCI who appears to be in, by his own phrasing, "about six feet of very brown stuff".

* * *

"Time of disappearance is approximately one-thirty a.m.; the door of Gene's house is still intact, so he didn't disappear from his house, it was all locked up and all the windows were closed and intact. So far nothing of Gene's has been found, and the only clue we have is the phone call Shaz took from someone who called themselves R.T. I suggest that people start making a directory of all the people in the city who have the initials R.T., and checking if any of them might have a motive for this. Get to work, your DCI's life hangs in the balance!"

CID instantly becomes a hive of activity, all the people working in there mucking in instantly, Chris and Ray at the forefront as they trawl through files religiously and flick papers into piles, sorting and reading, Ray's face noticeably pale at the prospect of Gene's death and Chris's hands shaking, betrayed by the occasional drop of a file or fumble of a sheaf of papers. It's a sign of how strung-out CID is that when the phone on Shaz's desk rings, almost everyone jumps. I smile at them reassuringly, a twitch of the lips as they look up at me from their frenzied work, but my own insides are in turmoil; Gene is my rock in this world, my island in the storm, and without him I would be swept away, thrown like a toy from wave to wave, unable to keep my head above water in the torrent.

Shaz stands up and walks over to my desk, her shoes thudding on the floor as she approaches almost cautiously.

"Ma'am? I jus' got a call, someone's found some blood on a street near the Guv's 'ouse. D'you wanna check it out?"

I snap my head up, my eyes widening.

"OK. Chris, Ray, with me. You too, Shaz," I add, nodding in Shaz's direction, and the young WPC flushes but follows me through the double doors, slipping her hand into Chris's subtly as they made their way out. I only notice because, right now, I seem to be noticing everything; even the sound of my high heels on the tarmac echoes in my brain and the squidge of Ray's chewing-gum makes me shudder.

Using the Quattro would feel like sacrilege, when we all know how much the Guv treasures it and how much he hates anyone else driving it, and although I have the spare set of keys Gene keeps in his office we take an old plod car to the scene, where an anxious middle-aged woman is waiting by the side of the road, her young daughter next to her and looking faintly nauseated, clutching the headset of her Walkman as though crushing it would block out the whole world.

I bend down and check the puddle, confirming that it is blood with a sick feeling settling stonily in my stomach, wondering if Gene was in a lot of pain when it happened, if he's still in pain, whether he's still bleeding or not, whether he's even still alive…

"Ma'am!" Chris calls from next to the wall, crouching just underneath the writing of BILL-POSTERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. I look up just in time to see him hold up a silver cigarette lighter, stone cold, not used recently, but definitely belonging to our Guv. How could I not recognise that lighter? I see it pretty much every day.

"So this definitely is Gene's blood, unless he managed to injure the person who took him, which I doubt," I murmur, putting a finger to the blood and shuddering as it comes off on my glove. I don't want evidence of Gene's injury on my clothing.

Wiping it off, I stand up and tell Shaz to get a cordon round the area, stepping back to allow her to put it up. My heel catches in a rut on the pavement and I trip backwards, swearing as I fall onto my arse on the freezing concrete- as Gene would say, cold enough to freeze the bollocks off anyone. I wish he'd been there to catch me as I scramble up, only to stop abruptly as something catches my eye, hidden behind the fence, tucked just out of sight and covered with a light layer of frost- this has been here at least since Gene was taken this morning.

I take it out and open it up, noting the neat folds and the flawless paper, proper artist's paper with a fine weave and quality papyrus used to make it. The writing on it is neat, a black fountain pen making elegant curves which make my heart stop when I read them.

_The fifteen thousand, or your DCI will never see the light of day again. I can do much worse than kill him; I can make him rue the day he was born. The choice is yours._

I tuck the note safely into my pocket, telling the others I'll show them back at the station, and walk away, leaving forensics to take a look at the scene and hoping against hope- and the seeming certainty of his injuries- that Gene's OK.

* * *

"Ow…"

Gene's eyes slowly opened, taking in nothing but the thickly-lashed lids sliding back to show slivers of bright blue iris and the midnight black of his pupils, widening in the gloom to try and distinguish something in the area. His head hurt like nothing ever before; worse than just a hangover, it throbbed mercilessly, bombarding him with pain as he became aware of a damp area at the back of his neck, the blood clotting his hairs together, the normally baby-soft hairs at the nape of his neck becoming harsh crimson spikes. He tried to bring his hand up to soothe his forehead, but his wrists were tied behind his back. Kicking one ankle, it proved to be the same.

"Woken, have we, DCI Bullshit?"

Gene tried to look up at the person looming above him, but a sharp kick to the back of the head sent him back into oblivion in a blast of red-hot pain.

* * *

A/N: OK, so how did this go? Please review and tell me! Do people want more? Thanks to my wonderful beta happyeverafter72, and thanks to you guys for reading! Your thoughts would make my day... hint hint... ;) Jazzola :)


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Gene knew was sunlight; it was streaming in through a small, rain-flecked window just under the ceiling, meagre and only seeming to enhance the bleak blankness of the prison-like room but at least giving Gene the gift of sight back. He squinted up at it, the phrase "rough as a badger's arse" making its way into his mind and bringing a small groan from the back of his rough, dry throat. Whoever had knocked him out before seemed to have gone; the room was deserted save for Gene as he picked himself up into a sitting position, resting on his elbows, his head screaming with pain but his mind determined to find some clue as to where he was in the void of a room he found himself in.

On one side of the room was a white-painted door, the paint flaking off as though the wood itself was despairing, a couple of cracks providing the only detail on the smooth surface. The door handle was missing, presumably so that it was a one-way street, a prison down to the last detail; all that was left of it was a gap like a black hole, showing where the wood was beginning to rot in the centre. The dingy concrete walls were streaked with damp marks, giving the miserable impression that the concrete was crying with the sheer gloominess of the room it created, and an unpleasant smell of mould and decay made its way to Gene's nostrils as he breathed in and out slowly, trying to soothe the pain in his head without the help of pain relief and whisky. He didn't know whether his hip-flasks were still in his suit jacket, but when he shifted slightly the Quattro keys had gone, along with his warrant card and wallet. He felt an uncharacteristic surge of anxiety at the feel of the empty pocket, at the loss of his possessions and power; it was like being introduced to the Masons once again, blind and defenceless, stripped of everything except the clothes he sat in.

As he clenched his jaw in anger and immediately regretted moving his head at all as a thump of mind-numbing pain surged through his skull, the door swung open slightly, revealing a balaclava-covered face and dank grey eyes, taking in Gene with loathing clear in their wet depths. Gene swore he had seen those eyes before, but could not place them somehow; a criminal he'd put away in the past? Someone he knew? He couldn't think for the life of him.

"Good morning. Nice day for it, isn't it?"

The stranger motioned to the rain pattering muted on the window, something like triumph gleaming in his cruel irises. Gene glared at him, only to be rewarded with a sharp kick to the stomach. He doubled up on the floor, helpless and seemingly defeated, with his captor's laughter ringing and echoing in his tortured ears as the man knelt down next to him and took a lock of his hair, twisting viciously as he spoke and making Gene's eyes water with pain.

"I dreamed of this day, Gene Hunt, finally getting you! You, who has evaded me for so long, the big-shot DCI they all talk about; you're finally in my grasp, and I can do what I want with you, whatever I want, whenever I want."

"Yer not a poofter, are yer?"

Gene's voice was scathing, but not so much with his distaste towards "poofters", with his disgust for this man who saw fit to abduct him and hold him in this tiny cell, claiming he could do whatever he wanted with him. The man laughed.

"Bisexual. I suppose you know what that means, don't you, Hunt?"

Gene shuddered with the implications that might bring. He was helpless, tied up, his head injured to the extent that it seemed to hurt even to think, and this man had all the power left in that room. What he might do to him… physical injury, he could deal with that, and damage to his ego took a bit longer to put right again but faded with time and a bit of alcohol. But damage of the kind this person was implying would take a lot longer to heal.

The man bent so close to Gene's ear his breath brushed his cheek, ruffling the hairs that weren't stiff with blood.

"I have power over anybody, Hunt. Anybody I want, I have power over. Including you. I would have thought the famous Manc Lion would put up more of a fight than he actually did… but it only made it easier for me. I have the might, Hunt, and it means that everybody is at my mercy if I want them to be."

And with those last couple of words, the man snaked his hand down Gene's leg, his face twisted beneath the balaclava, laughing cruelly as Gene pulled his leg away hastily and tried to edge away from his captor, revulsion etched on his weathered face and the faintest tint of fear.

"Soon, Hunt. Soon."

The man stood, kicking Gene's elbow so that he toppled backwards onto the floor again, and laughed mockingly as he left the room, slamming and locking the impenetrable door behind him, ensuring that Gene's only escape route was blocked.

Gene tried to hold back tears that threatened his eyes; he hadn't cried for years, and didn't intend to start now. Just because some bisexual nutter was holding him prisoner, threatening things that Gene didn't even want to think about and telling him that he had power over him, didn't mean that he had to cry.

Lying down slowly so as not to aggravate his head, Gene rested his head on his arm, his wrists still tied together, and closed his eyes again, begging his body to take him back to blissful dreamland.

But flesh does not always bend to the will of the mind, and Gene lay for hours, his eyes closed but his mind still awake and alert, going over the scenario he found himself in and only finding comfort in the thought of his friends, knowing that they would be looking for him and maybe finding out who this man was right now.

* * *

"Shaz, have you got that directory yet?"

Shaz nods and hands over the directory of all the men in London with the initials R.T. It's so heavy I nearly drop it, but I manage to get it to my desk and start going through it, remembering cases involving a couple of them and earmarking them and the pages they're on. Armed robbery, Robert Taylor. Embezzlement, Reece Thompson. Gene had had run-ins with both of them, but nothing major, nothing that would constitute something like this.

"Ray, Chris, go and check out the homes of Robert Taylor and Reece Thompson."

They nod and hastily make their ways out, grabbing the pair's papers as they go past my desk, much quicker than usual. The plod car rattles out of the station barely a minute later and CID falls silent once again.

Having nothing else to do, I stand up and walk into Gene's office, closing the door slowly behind me, breathing in the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and whisky and man in the room, perching shyly on the chair behind the desk and running my fingers over the keyboard of the Spectrum computer, seeing the dirty fingerprints from Gene on the cold, clicking keys; little loops with tiny whorls accessorising them, prints of the one and only Manc Lion. Seeing them stiffens my resolve to find Gene, and I slip off the chair and head out of CID, barely even knowing where I am going but my feet sure in the killer heels that Gene tells me make my arse even perkier. I had mock-slapped him for that, a light tap on his cheek, but secretly I had smiled at the comment.

I am wondering now if I'd ever see him again. His gruff Northern voice is in my ears as I picture him ordering me, working out the case with me, poring over the files and storming out in a whirl of Crombie coat to beat up the bastard who took him.

I look down at my hands. In it is clutched the directory still, with the names of all the men fitting those initials in it.

I put the plod car I'd gotten into almost unconsciously into gear and drive off, my intention to check out every single person on this list.

* * *

The other side of town is a dingy, ugly place reminiscent of Soho, but not with as much life; a stray dog growls at me as I hurry past, my heels clattering on the pothole-riddled concrete and my eyes growing used to the gloom as I read each and every address out to the darkness and check it, the same speech coming out: "Hello, I'm DI Alex Drake and I'm investigating the kidnap of a police officer. I have a warrant to search any property I need to to find him, so I'd like to have a look around here." Each and every time they allow me access, and each time without fail I find nothing. Not a trace of Gene, or any of his possessions, and by the time I fetch up at the house of Randy Torfield I am in a foul mood.

"Hello, I'm DI Alex Drake…"

Randy allows me to search the house, adding that he is retired now in a slightly disgruntled tone, as though my visit is a great inconvenience. I turn to him and scowl, watching as he leans against the grubby doorframe and watches me delving into his things.

"I am trying to find a kidnapper, I'm sorry if it inconveniences you but that's what I am doing. A police officer's life hangs in the balance here, so please accept that there are two sides to this and believe me, it gives me no pleasure at all to have to rummage around in your filthy little abode, but it's what I have to do to find him, OK?"

Randy looks away, a little taken aback by my outburst, and becomes silent as I take out some photos and look through them. Randy with a couple of other men in the shot who I recognise as criminals from a while back; obviously little souvenirs of Randy's crime-spree days.

"Your friends?" I ask suspiciously, holding the pictures up with a dark expression on my face. Randy fails to meet my eyes.

"Could say that," he mutters as I delve further, uncovering a small stash of cocaine. From the look on Randy's face, he'd forgotten it was there completely.

"Hmm…"

Randy begins panicking, gabbling, his before shady eyes now wide with terror.

"I- I didn't know that was there- I had no- no idea-"

"Of course not, Randy."

I advance on him, my hands on my hips and the drugs now slipped into a plastic evidence bag. Randy crosses to the stage of begging.

"If you- if you lose that coke, I'll- I'll- please, I'll do anything, I- Emily won't let me see the kids if she knows I've been delving in again- you've gotta see it from my point of view, DI Drake-"

An idea pops into my head as I watch Randy babbling, and I grab his arm and look straight into his eyes, letting him see the desperation and anxiety in mine. Randy falls silent.

"Listen. Here's the deal: you get your underworld mates to do a little trawling, and find out who's holding DCI Gene Hunt prisoner. If you do that, and come back to me with a name and address if you can get it, then this cocaine might just mysteriously vanish. However, if I find you've been playing me, I will see to it that it reappears just after your balls have been squashed to pancakes in a vice. You understand?"

Randy nods, his face grey with worry.

"Good. You'll find me at Fenchurch East. Hoping to see you soon."

With that I sweep from the house and deposit the cocaine in the dashboard of the Quattro, a little fresh hope burning in my stomach and my thoughts turning once again to my imprisoned DCI, hoping that he is not too frightened, and hoping that he knows I am trying to find him.

* * *

Gene rubbed his hands against the hook of sharp concrete on the wall for what felt like the millionth time, trying desperately to cut through the rope and at least free his hands instead of lying on the floor like a hobbled horse, his limbs tied to one another, unable to even attempt escape due to the angry rope burns on his skin biting him with pain whenever the rope brushed too hard against them. He gritted his teeth against the pain of the burns and pushed harder, stifling a gasp as the door opened and he immediately went limp, pretending his hardest to appear asleep.

The dulled sounds of footprints, leather soles on concrete floor, came closer as Gene tried to even his breathing, his branded skin searing with pain still, desperate to convince the captor that he was out. For the second time that day, he felt the warmth of the man's breath on his body, his cheek seeming to shrivel away from the air brushing against it; a dirty, coarse finger found his eyelid and pulled it open slowly, as if trying to catch him out, to give him something to punish him for…

Gene put all the effort he could muster into keeping his eye still and blank as the dull grey ones peered into it, taking it in and glaring sullenly. They seemed to make a decision inside them, because the finger was withdrawn and Gene eased his eyelid back down, making it appear he had been out throughout the whole thing, desperation fuelling his surprisingly good acting.

The brittle voice of the man brushed over the shell of his ear, and Gene had to bite bile back at the rush of horror that coursed through him at the words.

"Tomorrow, Gene. Tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed so far, seriously, reviews make my day! Thanks again to happyeverafter72 for her betaing skills. Keep reading! Jazzola :)


	3. Chapter 3

The pain from Gene's shredded and cut skin and bruised, thumping head was fighting for domination with something else, some other feeling, and Gene recognised it groggily as hunger as he came to after a couple of snatched hours of restless, cold sleep. At the thought of food, it increased, making him moan slightly and shift onto his side, trying in vain to alleviate the dull ache inside him.

"Hungry?"

Gene clenched his fists as the voice hissed through the room, turning to see that the cruel grey eyes had been watching him sleep from a stool pressed against the wall on the other side of the room. As bright blue collided with dank grey, Gene's eyes narrowed and his captor's eyes seemed to smile, a cold, joyless smile that seemed to mock with its very presence. Gene looked away, not beaten, simply disgusted at this hateful creature. And still he struggled to place the voice, the eyes…

"Food?"

Gene glanced up. The man was holding out a piece of mould-encrusted bread, his irises gleaming with something hard to read. Triumph? Pride? Maybe some hate? He had no idea.

"Piss off."

"It's all that's on offer."

"You deaf? Fuck off."

The man laughed, withdrawing the putrid food and throwing it down onto the floor instead, as though he was feeding a dog. Gene's blood seethed, and he clenched his teeth, ignoring the bolt of pain that shot through his head as he did so.

"You'll be begging me soon, Hunt. You will fall to your knees in front of me and writhe, desperate to please me, to keep me and my- displeasure- at bay and conserve the last traces of dignity you have left. I will see it- I will. And you know that, deep down. There you are, tied up, helpless and wretched, and I have the power, as I always will. You cannot win, Hunt. You're no more than an animal to me. You destroyed me and now I will exterminate you. Oh no, I won't kill you yet; I will make your life a living hell first, so lowly and disgusting that you'll plead with me to end it once and for all. You know and I know. Oh, how intoxicating this power is…"

And with that and a cruel, harsh laugh, the megalomaniac left the room.

Gene lay silent as the door slammed shut, a few flakes of barely-painted wood falling to the floor in a small cascade. He was sure he would be able to break the door down normally, in its half-rotted and feeble state, but now his head swam as he sat up awkwardly from the lack of food and he knew that he would faint before he even got near the door.

"Yer not a bloody fairy, Gene, grow a pair," he hissed to himself, pushing against the floor and trying to get up properly but falling back onto his knees and swearing loudly. A feeling of uselessness coursed through his weakened body as he lay back, not resisting gravity pulling him down, and closed his eyes again, scenes from his life flashing in his mind: making the Force, throwing Sam against a filing cabinet in the GMP, drinking with Alex in Luigi's, sorting papers in his office and staring at a photo attached with a paper clip to a thick file, a man with dank grey eyes and a harsh, unattractive face, thin pale lips and a general air of menace and cruelty…

He started, his eyes flying open, straining to remember what the case had been about. He was light-headed, pain was still flowing freely through his system and his body was effectively immobilised, but his brain was whirring, trawling through banks of carefully-preserved case memories to try and place those eyes, that face…

And then he realised and gasped out loud.

"I 'ave to warn Bolly… an' the others… oh shit."

* * *

Waiting for Randy Torfield is like waiting for a tsunami you don't even know is going to happen. My determination to remain in the office is waning rapidly by the time Shaz takes a call from someone who has found a pack of blood-stained cigarettes by the Hammers and would like us to check it out. Wondering if it'll be another lead to Gene that has us perplexed, I grab my jacket and leave a message with Viv, telling him that if Randy calls, I'm out on a call and to leave a message with the desk.

Forensics are already on the scene by the time I arrive, swarming round the small red puddle with cordons around the scene and Chris and Ray watching the proceedings like hawks, their eyes never leaving the cigarettes and the hands of the officers handling them. I walk up and murmur a question to them, quietly dreading the answer but desperate to know.

"Are they the cigarettes the Guv buys?"

Ray nods, pulling a packet out of his own jacket and comparing the two for me.

"I get the same as 'im, they're the best. Same brand, same packagin', just the small difference o' that one bein' soaked in blood."

I grimace at it and approach a white-suited officer, watching as off comes the spacesuit-like apparatus, revealing a normal-looking young man with tousled dark hair.

"Can you tell me if that's DCI Hunt's blood?"

"I'm not sure, but we can confirm when it was shed and who it's most likely to have come from, checking by the blood group. There was a note attached, by the way."

He hands me the note, stained with the gruesome red liquid but still legible, partly dry.

"So. You haven't yet found me? You never will. I will exert my power over him for ever, and he'll never be able to get away from me- never! K.B."

I stare at the last two initials, confused. K.B.? We thought it was R.T… or is this person using multiple identities? Different names? Or is this even related to Gene at all? It could be someone completely different… and yet the tone of the note is the same, sneering, triumphant, confident. I am almost sure they're the same person.

Deciding to compare the handwriting to check for sure, I turn on my heel and head back to the station, my hand running over my forehead as I wonder if Gene is still alive, still able to know that we are looking for him and working hard to find him.

* * *

"The handwriting is the same. The tone is the same. The blood is from blood group AB negative at both scenes, and without looking at medical records I would have to assume that is Gene's blood group. All this points to it being the same person, and them using the initials R.T. and K.B. for some reason. Maybe they changed their names? Shaz, I'd like you to start looking for any people around here who changed their names from R.T. to K.B., or who have all four letters in their names, just anyone who might want to sign the notes with those four initials. OK?"

Shaz nods and turns, stopping dead in her tracks when Ray speaks.

"I can think o' someone."

I stare at him, the room becoming silent as everyone else turns to gape at him. For Ray, this is almost worrying.

"Who?"

"Oh… no, it doesn't fit," Ray mutters, his face growing a little red. He quickly lights a cigarette to hide it, ensconcing his scarlet-tinged cheeks in a cloud of foul-smelling grey smoke.

"No, go on, Ray. Who were you going to say?"

"I was goin' to say, there was this gangster called Robbie Thomas. 'E was caught by the Guv sellin' crack on. D'you think it might be 'im?"

I pause, pursing my lips as I think.

"When did Gene collar him?"

"Couple o' months ago. 'E won't be out o' the scrubs yet, but someone else might be doin' this for him."

"I don't know, Ray, but we should check him out anyway. Someone go and check him out. You carry on, Shaz," I add, looking round at the young WPC, who nods and walks off, her head bowed slightly but giving Chris a tentative smile as she passes him. Without Gene the mood in the room is muted, almost negative, and I wish that I could offer them comfort, reassuring words, to try and improve the mood, but they wouldn't accept anything like that, they would brush it off as some posh bird trying out her psychiatry on them (damn you Gene for getting that word mixed up too often for them to remember that it's _psychology_!) and ignore or scorn me.

Slowly the room grows silent again, save for the ruffle of papers and crackle of cigarettes and the odd sigh or slurp of tea. I plop down into my chair and wait patiently for Randy, flicking through files, delving through names and photos and records but my mind far away from the scratched, cigarette-burnt desk in front of me.

* * *

_Bolly taps her watch and calls to me, telling me we have to get a move on or we'll be late for our meeting with the Super. I hurry along the corridor, nodding impatiently at her, my snakeskin boots clicking against the concrete as I keep pace with her, my anxiety growing as the door gets ever closer. It resembles the door of a courtroom, wide and oak-coloured, gloomy and doom-laden._

"_Good luck," Bolly murmurs, clutching my hand for the briefest of seconds before the doors open and I am pushed through them into the office, my body suddenly surrounded by glass and wood. I have been forced into a dock._

"_Wha…" I start, but I am cut off by my name being called by a foghorn-like, evil voice from the other side of the room, which is still decorated like an office but set out like a courtroom, with rows of balaclava-covered juries all staring straight at me, their gazes cold and uncaring, pale long-fingered hands scribbling on pads._

"_You tried to resist me."_

_The judge at the top of the courtroom raises his head, and I meet his arctic, dank grey eyes._

"_You tried to win. Once you did. But you never will again. I will have my revenge."_

_A blood-stained hand reaches out to pull a lever resembling the handbrake of the Quattro, and the last thing I see is the courtroom standing and applauding loudly as I yell, pain searing through my head as the floor opens beneath me and I am falling, blind and breathless and writhing through the air, desperately searching for a handhold, a ledge, something to break my endless fall into the void of blackness I can sense all around me…_

_Blackness…_

_Blankness…_

_Cold and uncaring…_

_Help me…_

"_Beg me."_

_No!_

"_BEG ME!"_

_I can't…_

_PLEASE!_

"PLEASE!"

A hand drew back from the back of Gene's head, stained with bright blood and macabre as it swayed lazily in front of his face, the fingers dripping with scarlet. Pain throbbed through Gene's head once again, the cut just above his hairline stinging with its recent assault.

"I told you you would beg, Hunt," a voice hissed in his ear as the person above him put his hand firmly on Gene's hip, stroking idly and pinching before it withdrew, leaving him writhing and panting on the floor, kicking the backs of his knees as they walked away, leaving cold laughter echoing through the miserable cell and despair festering in Gene's heart.

They hadn't found him. They were no closer, probably.

Gene's stomach twisted in fear.

Maybe they never would.

Or maybe they would when it was too late.

He had no idea which was preferable.

* * *

A/N: Please remember to review! Thanks for reading, and once again, thank you so much to my wonderful beta happyeverafter72! :D Jazzola :)


	4. Chapter 4

Robbie Thomas is an ugly, greasy-haired specimen of a man, waiting for me in the interview room in Fenchurch scrubs like a parasite awaiting a wound to crawl into and infect. I sit down reluctantly on the other side of the table to him, pushing my chair out of his grubby reach and watching as his eyes narrow at me.

"Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt. The name mean anything to you?"

"Plenty enough, love," Robbie hisses. His voice is dull and scratchy after years of cigarettes and drinking, and it reminds me of Gene's, only Gene's voice is a welcome rumble, deep and commanding and confident, and Robbie's sound is more like the whining of a troublesome gnat. Which seems to sum up the man perfectly.

"The bastard put me away 'ere. Caught me."

"As we have been told, Mr Thomas. Would you have any reason to want to kidnap DCI Hunt, or hurt him, apart from the fact that he put you here?"

Robbie seems to contemplate me for a minute, his eyes taking me in, leaning back in his chair and stroking the unpleasant straggles of hair on his chin.

"Mind me tellin' you somethin'?"

"No, not at all. Spill."

"There's someone else 'o 'as it in fer cops as much as I do. 'Is name is Kenneth Thurley. I worked fer 'im, takin' a share in the sweeties, be it guns, cash- or drugs."

"And that's what you were put away for."

"The drugs. Police raid, led by yer DCI 'Unt. 'E banged me up good an' proper. Only I thanked 'im for it."

I blink, confused.

"What?"

"Yes, 'e saved me bloody life, 'e did. See, Kenneth found out I'd nicked a few o' 'is stashes o' drugs ter sell on. Got mad, came lookin' fer me- an' found a raided 'ouse an' no me. Me mates from outside told me that 'e'd said that when I got out, 'e'd kill me fer losin' 'im 'is cocaine an' thousands o' pounds. Just another notch to add to 'is post, though, me. 'E's a professional 'itman; assassinations, scheduled killin's, whatever you want 'im to kill, 'e'll do it an' sleep a couple o' 'undred richer an' wi' a clear conscience, so I 'eard. 'E was 'ired to kill a copper a couple o' weeks before I was found out, a female DI, so I 'eard."

My ears are on stalks.

"Would she have been DI Alex Drake?"

"Funny enough, yeah, love, she was."

I smile and sit back myself, outside composed and inside unsure of where this is going.

"So… what do you want us to do with this information, Mr Thomas?"

"Use it," he says simply, his dark brown eyes fixed on mine, a murky, sickly shade to match the rest of him. "Get 'im. An' 'e might know somethin' about this missin' copper mate o' yours."

"Why didn't you tell the police this before?"

He grins again.

"Bidin' me time. The coppers might think I was lyin', makin' it up, if I just told 'em outta the blue. Didn' trust me, especially that Hunt."

"Making things more difficult for the police."

"An' that, love. Yer more perceptive than yer look."

I grind my teeth quietly.

"Thank you, Mr Thomas. That'll be all."

We stand up and make our way out of the scrubs, looking back only to see Robbie Thomas waving at us as he is led back to his cell, a hateful smile on his harshly-lined face.

* * *

"We're going to lure him out of hiding."

"What?"

I stand with my back to the whiteboard in CID and address the assorted men and woman in front of me.

"Since we are no closer through detective work, I'm going to bite the bullet and go for our man directly. We were told to leave fifteen thousand pounds in front of the Hammers for whoever is holding DCI Hunt prisoner. Well, we're going to do that- but it'll be fake money. The oldest trick in the book, but he won't realise until we have Gene. We'll have officers hiding around the Hammers, ready to come out when the captor comes out. They'll be armed, and hiding here-" I point out a spot on the crudely-drawn but very accurate map on the whiteboard- "and here-" another place- "and the majority will be here, just by where we'll leave the money. The drop-off time is in one hour. I've already left a note by the Hammers telling him that. Hopefully he'll bring Gene with him to collect the money; if it turns into a hostage situation, I can talk to him, but I want you to shoot into the air and confuse him, make him think he's being shot at first. Gene's bright enough to shield himself, dive aside; we'll have to rely on him a little for this plan."

Silence reigns in the room before Ray breaks it.

"What if 'e doesn't bring the Guv?"

"No risk of him getting hurt then, is there?"

Several of the officers nod, and Ray gives me a small smile before retiring back to his desk and beginning to ready his gun.

The corner of my eye catches a shadow stealing past us, through the corridor. I frown, turning to face it properly- but it's gone before I get a good look at it.

Dismissing it to the back of my mind, I ready my own firearm and prepare myself for a possible hostage situation, running through techniques in my mind, praying that Gene is OK all the while.

* * *

The money is in place, along with the officers, exactly one hour later, and I am waiting patiently for someone to come. Ray is growing impatient next to me, and Chris is tapping his foot against the brick like a bored schoolboy, his tenseness showing in the whiteness of his knuckles as he clutches the gun like a drowning man would clutch a lifebelt. Shaz is counting up to a hundred and making up little rhymes under her breath; I am humming quietly and hoping that something will happen soon.

A van draws up, and we jump out; guns firing, yells pounding through the air as we rush towards it-

But the driver is a delivery man, who gets out with a confused and frightened expression on his face.

"I was told to deliver this to you, by someone who called."

He hands us a card, crudely written on by a hand that doesn't seem similar to the one that wrote the notes we received before. I frown at it, unsure of it, and take in the words, which once again make me shudder as I take in the truth of them.

"I am one step ahead of you, coppers. He is mine. Give up- condemn him to the living hell I will bestow upon him. You are powerless, I have sapped you of your power and control and it is mine. He is mine. You are useless. R.B."

Those last two letters… once again, R and B.

I sigh at them, groaning as I tuck it into my pocket and turn with the others to return to the station.

It would seem we are no closer.

* * *

The pain was becoming a little dulled as Gene pushed himself over onto his back, staring blankly at the mould-spotted ceiling, his eyes scanning the ugly plaster but his mind not taking anything in at all. He knew those eyes now; after hours of trawling his memory banks, going through almost half of London in his mind's eye and thinking over most of the cases he had handled since his 1980 transfer, he had finally placed them.

Alex wouldn't know; she couldn't trust anyone in the police force, none of them could. Ray might remember if he had known, but otherwise none of them had come into contact with the captor or the case surrounding him. If they told others in the station, or others overheard their plans, then it would make its way back; they couldn't let on anything, not the slightest detail, or it would be their undoing. He clenched his bound fists, wishing that Alex could hear his thoughts, hear the names he was growling under his breath…

But Alex was unreachable, and he knew it.

Gene sighed, his thoughts turning to the hip flask taken by the man and the packet of fags he had presumably smoked himself, or sent back to the station as a clue; Gene wasn't sure which one the captor would be more inclined towards. His longing for nicotine and alcohol was almost as powerful as his desire to be freed, and his fingers unconsciously moved to barrel an invisible cigarette between his middle and index fingers as he pictured the bottle of scotch he always kept in his office, ready and waiting at any given time of day. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be there, with a packet of his favourite ciggies and a tumbler of scotch patiently glowing at him from his desk. The man had removed his boots, and his toes curled at the mental image, the longing to be back where he belonged, away from this nutter, able to have him locked up from the comfort of his chair…

"Where are yer when I need yer, Bolly-Kecks?" he murmured, closing his eyes again as his body gave another twinge of famishment; he couldn't remember when he'd last had something to eat, but decided not to try and recall it, since it would make him think of food more than ever and might well tip him over the edge.

Faces hovered above him… Shaz after her stabbing, her gasping scratching at his ears, her blood-stained hand clutching Chris's… Ray calling to him from the back of the Quattro to get the bastard, punching a suspect in the stomach with a look of grim determination on his face… Chris sliding his sunglasses down his nose as he gave a surprised "Roger that", his familiar gormlessness on his face but his stance alert and his gun in his strong fingers… Viv's look of surprise as he asked to be taken down to the cells, the dark brown eyes taking in the wounds to his face and watching him carefully as he slid the cell door to… and Alex, her brown-flecked, perfectly green eyes searching his, the faintest whisper of "Let me in, Gene…" falling from her pink lips, her hand in his as he pulled her up from the floor after saving her from Jeremy, warm and soft and gripping his, curling in- disappointment?- as he pulled away. The images crawled through his vision, moving their lips in silent words, and he watched them sadly, knowing it was hunger bringing on the hallucinations, the lack of the nutrients that his body so badly needed.

"I need to talk to yer," he whispered, reaching up blindly with his bound hands as though he could touch them, despair ringing in his aching head.

"Let me in…"

"I will…"

_"Guv! Guv, over 'ere!"_

"I have the power…"

"Let me go!"

"I have the power, Hunt; I have the power, as I always will. You cannot win, Hunt. You're no more than an animal to me."

"Stop… stop…"

"You cannot win…"

"Piss off!"

"A shred of defiance left in you- oh, I thought there would be. I can't let it stay, though…"

"_Let me in…"_

"Gerroff me!"

"_Yer'll stick with the Guv, if yer know what's good for yer."_

"Time to die, Hunt…"

And then the prick of a needle and darkness.

* * *

A/N: There will be more clues next chapter… for now, I have to get to bed. Please review, and thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed before and a special mention to queenoftherandomoneandonly, who has been very pleasant to talk to and who has written a really nice fic, "The Start of Defeat", which helped me with my writing here. Thanks, m'lady (I'm not typing that whole name out again XD)! Jazzola :)


	5. Chapter 5

_The room swims. My mind is blank… so blank…_

"_Is he dead? I don't think I can feel a pulse…"_

_The pinch of the needle in my flesh…_

"_Who cares? He won't survive that little lot unless he has proper treatment, and I'm not giving the bastard up now, not after everything I've been through to keep him!"_

_The cold, dark liquid, seeping through my veins, through my consciousness… condemning me to coldness and blankness…_

"_What did you do that for then, you fuckwit? We need him alive!"_

_Someone presses something to my skull, and I can't bring myself to push it away; my strength has left me, dissolving with the anaesthetic that has been forced into me. I stop thinking and accept defeat._

_Maybe I'll see you in another life, Bolls, another time. But it looks like I'm done for now. I'm sorry._

_The door closes. I breathe easy again._

_It opens. My heart pounds as best it can._

_Light seeps onto my face…_

"You had us all worried there, DCI Hunt."

Gene tried to open his eyes, to see who the person looming above him was. Their face was in shadow, but the voice seemed familiar somehow, as though he recognised it from somewhere distant, somewhere that didn't seem to matter any longer. There wasn't as much cruelty in this voice, although it was brusque and sharp, and didn't fit the words it was speaking; there was no caring in the tone, no warmth.

"We need you alive. Don't you dare go anywhere on us, you hear me?"

_I wasn't bloody planning on it, mate…_

Gene sighed quietly as a pair of black shoes made their way out of his line of vision, accompanying the voice to the door.

"I'll be back soon, DCI Hunt. I have some business to sort out back at the station."

Gene clenched his fists lightly, but they unclenched as a thought struck him: the man wasn't calling him by his surname only, like the first captor, this one addressed him by his full title, as though it was a habit they knew they couldn't break…

_Stop thinking and get some sleep, Genie boy. Plenty of time to solve this when you're less woozy._

For the first time in his life, Gene Hunt gave up trying to solve the case due to fatigue. His last thoughts were of his colleagues, and whether they were any closer to anything, and whether he would die before he got the chance to have another cigarette.

* * *

The office is filled with gloom as I walk in the next morning, having snatched a couple of desperate and restless hours of sleep. Although I am almost ready to fall over with exhaustion, and wishing I had a decent glass of wine to down, I feel the urgency of my mission still and vow that we will make a breakthrough today.

"OK. The writing? Anyone got anything for that?"

Chris holds up a sheet of names with each one crossed off, sighing.

"Nothin', Boss- er, Ma'am. As if 'e doesn't exist."

I perch on the edge of his desk, watching as he turns and picks up a folder of statements from police who were at the scene of the bloodied cigarette packet, opening one and flicking through it.

My blood freezes as I see the written statement.

"Chris, give that here!"

Utterly confused, Chris hands the file over, shrugging at Ray as I scrabble around for the note and hold it up against the statement.

"Chris, look. The writing on the note is disguised, but not well enough- the "t"s are the same, the same shape and length, and the "g"s are also the same, and it's the same size, the same kind of language… and in both he puts the serifs on the "I" in the same way, making them too long so it looks like an underlined "T". I think we've found our notewriter!"

I turn the file over, looking at the picture paper-clipped to the front of it, the face of DS Peter Harrows.

"I haven't done anything! I swear, I haven't done anything bad to DCI Hunt!"

DS Peter Harrows, mid-twenties, with floppy blond hair and skin so pale it could give Dracula a run for his money, so skinny he looks as though a hard breath out could knock him over, stares at me, his eyes wide with the conviction of his innocence.

"That will be for us to decide, DS Harrows. Please take a seat."

Ray shoves him down hard into the chair in the interview room, his eyes narrowed with hatred. In his eyes, Harrows is a possible suspect and that means that he is treated with as little dignity as Ray would treat a dead rabbit.

"Ow! Watch it, I'm the same rank as you, _DS _Carling!"

"Not in this room, _pal_," Ray sneers, giving the chair a good hard kick so that Harrows falls out of it and onto the floor, moaning about police brutality. I have a sudden flashback to standing outside a house, Gene's gruff Manchester voice coming from next to me: _"A word about police brutality. Lots of it."_

"Are you quite finished, DS Harrows?" I ask sarcastically, the sound of Gene's remembered voice in my ears only strengthening my determination to get this bastard once and for all.

Harrows mutters something and sits back, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it.

"Interview commenced at eight thirty-two a.m., interviewing Detective Sergeant Peter Harrows in connection with the abduction of Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt. Present in the room, DI Alex Drake, DS Ray Carling, Mr Harrows, you will be addressed as such for the duration of the interview, since whilst you are in here you will be stripped of your rank. Now…"

My eyes narrow, and I see his taking me in steadily; he knows enough about police psychology to know that I am going in for the kill.

"Mr Harrows, could you please tell me where DCI Hunt is being held, and who is holding him there?"

"I haven't got a clue. If I did, I'd tell you. You've got to believe me!"

"This handwriting is the same as the writing on the note sent to us by the kidnapper. But you have an alibi for the time of DCI Hunt's kidnapping, being at your girlfriend's house all night. Would you like her to leave you, Mr Harrows? Would you like to be alone in prison?"

"Don't you dare," Harrows whimpers. I can see fear beginning to come into the equation of his eyes now, sliding in swiftly underneath the dark brown eyes.

"If you're found guilty of abduction, you'll be put away for life. I could let DS Carling do what he wants with you- and what he wants right now is to kill the bastard who took his Guv. We have loyalty in our team, and he is the biggest part of that team, the glue that keeps it all together. They will get you if you don't tell us everything, Harrows, so I suggest you start getting your story together, pronto."

Harrows gulps, looking from me to Ray and back, his irises wide and terrified, his already pasty skin a nasty shade of greyish-white.

"You… I…"

"Nothing? Nothing at all for us?"

I stand up, calling his bluff, a sudden instinct coming in.

"OK then, Ray. Cuff this bastard and take him down to the cells. He can rot in there for all I care. Viv won't feed him, give him water, or anything like that; he'll leave him till he starves to death, because of his loyalty to DCI Hunt. I hope you have a nice, short death, Mr Harrows."

I know it's a little harsh, but we have no time for niceties now; Gene's life hangs in the balance and if showing Harrows I mean it will help, then that's what I will do.

Ray and I stand and make our way to the door. Ray's eyes are dark with hatred and worry; mine meet his for the briefest of seconds and slide away, letting him know what we're doing.

My hand is resting on the door handle before Harrows cries out.

"Wait!"

I turn slowly, my eyes meeting his, his terrified, mine searching.

"Do you have something for us, Mr Harrows? Do you know something after all?"

Harrows clears his throat, looking more petrified than ever.

"I'll… I'll talk."

I carefully walk over and sit down again, taking my time, noticing Ray leaning against the door once again out of the corner of my eye. My attention is focused on Harrows as he squirms in his chair and clasps his hands under the table as though in silent prayer.

"There's… there's this old copper. Your DCI Hunt busted him when he joined the force. See, he was born Richard Best, and when he was about twenty he was put away for assault and armed robbery, two crimes committed within days of each other. When he was let out, he decided to make a clean breast of it, but he didn't. He changed his name so that he would be allowed to join the Force, took on the name of Kenneth Best, after his uncle, who died years ago. Everything seemed great for him- he had a wife, Grace, and two kids, a boy and a girl. Only then DCI Hunt found out about his previous convictions, and decided to have him quietly checked out before reporting him, see if there was anything else he was doing.

"So he did. And he found out that Kenneth Best was heading up a roaring drugs trade to supplement his salary as a DC. DCI Hunt reported him to his superiors, who were, understandably, embarrassed by the whole thing, and unwilling to bring more shame onto the head of the Metropolitan Police.

"Super Mac suspended Kenneth while he investigated, and then fired him. It was all done very quietly, very quickly, very carefully. Nothing to the media. No imprisonment that would draw attention to the Force. After all, Mac was as bent as a crowbar, he didn't want people honing in on this kind of thing happening in the Force in case it proved his own downfall. So he just fired him.

"Kenneth changed his name again, this time to Kenneth Thurley. New surname, new start, he thought. He couldn't let go of his uncle's name still. Fitting, really, his uncle was a drugs baron. That's the name he lives under now, alone. Grace left him and took the kids with her. But he still has mates in the Met… and one of them is me."

Harrows bows his head as he says it. I am sitting at the table still, my eyes fixed on the young man in front of me, my thoughts on what he is saying. It all fits now… Kenneth or Richard would swap his names around to avoid us finding him, but to taunt us as well. K.B. R.B. R.T. They're all the same person… Kenneth Thurley.

"Have you seen DCI Hunt?"

I have to know. Harrows continues his careful inspection of his fingernails as he speaks.

"I have. I'm a trained medic, and… he needed it. Kenneth injected him with an overdose of sedatives; he almost died. But Kenneth refused to get him to hospital."

Ray sucks in his breath on the other side of the room. I am watching, appalled. This is my worst fear come to life, the one thing I was hoping had maybe not happened… my hopes have been dashed in two smooth sentences.

"I gave him medication to combat the effects of the sedative, but he's still unstable, frail."

Harrows looks up, genuine fright in his eyes.

"I didn't want him to die… but I don't want to die at the hands of my old friend either. What do I do, DI Drake?"

I lean forwards, fixing his eyes once again, not looking away for a second as I speak, slowly and clearly, emotion leaking into my voice.

"You take us to him."

* * *

A/N: And so all is explained… I hope you like this plotline, and sorry for the huge delay, but the plot bunny had an overdose of lettuce and has been comatose for a week. And I fed it my homework too, which didn't help. Whoopsie… ;) It's back to normal now, though. Please review, it would really, really make my day! Thanks hugely to the wonderful people who have reviewed, and don't even think about going off without reviewing, because I will send my radioactive ostriches after you. That's right, radioactive ostriches. You have been warned. Jazzola :)


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Gene opened his eyes, he came to two conclusions: one, that he was not dead yet, and the next, that nobody had come for him. Yet.

He could feel his spirits sinking as this second- and unwelcome- conclusion came to mind; surely the famous Fenchurch East CID could find him? Sure, they could be a useless bunch of divs when they wanted to be, but he was their Guv, their DCI. Surely they wouldn't give him up without a fight?

Maybe they had written him off for dead?

Maybe they had a new DCI?

His heart twisted at the thought of his Bolly arguing with someone else, drinking with them in Luigi's, sharing jokes with them, roaring round corners in a car with them. They'd have his Quattro over his dead body. If necessary he'd be buried in the thing, if it meant that it had no other future owner.

Something inside him told him that he was being ridiculous, and that there was no way that his team would ever give him up as if they no longer cared about him; they would carry on looking and searching and trying to find him until they had either a living DCI or a body to bury. Alex especially. She hadn't ever given up on him or his instinct; the case with Chas Cale sprung to mind, along with the part about getting her out of the freezer and resuscitating her as she lay lifeless on the sofa in front of him, her eyes closed, her makeup smudged by the single tear that had fallen down her cheek, a snail's trail of dark mascara and eyeliner on her pale skin. Gene allowed himself to fall into his memories once again, a faint smile gracing his pale, chapped lips as he saw the scene play out again in his mind's eye. Alex and her hand on his cheek, brushing against the stubble from a long day's work, her eyes searching his as though trying to find out if they were real or not…

A bang upstairs distracted him. He stopped himself from yelping out loud as someone rushed down, their steps so hurried they almost tripped, clattering to a halt against the door and swinging it open as they found it, eyes full of savagery as the door opened to reveal Kenneth Best, murderous hands reaching out towards Gene, frothing, twisted mouth uttering one sentence:

"I'll have you- I'll have you for this- and I'll have you _now!_"

* * *

After deciding that he wanted to play along after all, Peter Harrows is a gold mine of information. He gives us Kenneth Thurley's address, names of his other accomplices, criminal masterminds he's in contact with- everything we need to secure a conviction that will send Kenneth Thurley down for longer than Linda Lovelace, as Gene would say. Harrows informs us that the sedative used was a common hospital sedative that could cause problems if too much was administered to the patient.

"He only intended to make him drowsy, unable to resist him."

Harrows bows his head, his eyes filled with tears as I bend closer, my eyes narrowed as I see his body language- defensive, unwilling to disclose information. We can't have that.

"Mr Harrows- what exactly did Mr Thurley plan to do to DCI Hunt that would require him to be unable to resist?"

Harrows looks up again, his eyes dark. Ray beside me clenches his fist, something that does not go unnoticed by Harrows.

"He… er… can I just tell you, DI Drake?"

I sit down on the desk, suddenly feeling slightly weak in the knees.

"If you tell me, you are telling both of us, Mr Harrows. Please tell us- and make sure that the tape captures it as well- what Mr Thurley planned to do to DCI Hunt."

Harrows clears his throat, nervousness oozing from every pore. I mentally brace myself.

"Well… um… I don't know if you know, but Thurley's bisexual…"

Ray gives a low groan of disbelief next to me as he guesses what Harrows is about to say. My mouth opens and hangs at almost ninety degrees as the reality of what Harrows is implying sinks into my brain, stinging my skull with how terrible it is, the hateful reality of what might be happening to Gene, my Gene, right now…

"Just say it," my voice says, although inside I am screaming that I don't want to hear. "Say what Mr Thurley is planning to do, or may have already done, to DCI Hunt."

Harrows faces me, sorrow in his eyes. I can tell he's genuinely sorry that he ever went along with this, and it's in a resigned voice that he speaks his next sentence, as if he has given up all hope.

"When I spoke to him, he was planning to rape DCI Hunt."

* * *

I rush into CID, grabbing my coat and yelling for everyone else to do the same. We are hurrying to save Gene from a terrible ordeal and both of us, us being myself and Ray, are very aware there may be only seconds to spare before we are too late. Ray motions to the rest of CID that we are running out of time and the bustle of people grabbing coats and weapons is over in seconds before we're all heading out to raid Number 43, Holdstone Croft.

The ride can't seem to go fast enough for me; I am clinging onto the door as Ray throws the Quattro round the corners, tyres screaming, driving Gene would be proud of from his DS. The reason we have the Quattro is that time is of the essence, and it's the fastest car for miles; Gene wouldn't object, I'm sure of it. Chris in the back is about to throw up from worry and car sickness; _bless him, he worries so much, _I think as Chris tries not to retch in the back of the car. Shaz beside him is clutching his hand hard, biting her lip, the picture of worry; Ray relayed all to her and Chris on the journey and I hate to think what images are going through Shaz's highly-strung imagination now.

The house seems so ordinary when we pull up outside it, as though it was too normal, too emotionless, to be the centre of what might be happening right now; Alex found herself cursing mundanity as she approached the door and knocked hard, calling out, her voice clear and ringing in the cold air.

"Mr Thurley? Can you open the door, please? We have a warrant to search this address and if you don't come out now we'll break the door down!"

Silence. I turn and catch Ray's eye.

"I'm giving you one more chance, Mr Thurley. Come out now!"

Still nothing. Ray flexes his muscles, a vindictive look on his face, and crashes into the door with the force of the average bull.

Splinters of wood are still settling as we make our way into the house, searching through it, leaving a trail of mess in our wake but not caring one bit; if Gene is in this house, then Thurley will be less concerned about us making a little bit of mess as he will be about us finding the man he's abducted.

And possibly raped…

_Don't even think about that, Alex. Just keep on looking, focus on what's important, which is finding Gene whatever state he's in. You need to get to him and you need to get to him now!_

Ray hollers from the lounge, his voice travelling through the house easily; the thin walls are no match for his hefty vocal cords.

The whole team is through there in seconds, staring at a door that Ray has found behind a bookcase; the books are strewn over the floor, leaving me in little doubt how Ray found the door.

"Good work, Ray. Now get it down."

As I speak someone cackles from below the door and someone else yelps.

"Agh!"

"Gene!" I shriek, my hands flying to my face as Gene cries out once again, his voice stark in the silence, galvanising the team into action.

Ray flies towards the wood of the door, crunching through; the door buckles off its hinges completely, plummeting down steep steps towards another door, this one with a crude engraving on the back of "HOLDING DUNGEON".

"Well, looks like we've found him," I mutter, only to be pushed out of the way by Ray, Chris and Shaz, who all rush towards the door in a human stampede, feet flying, shoulders bared, faces set with determination…

No door would stand a chance against three of the finest officers of Fenchurch East CID.

The wood bursts open, the door cracking straight through, cascading in all directions. A man is standing above the silhouette of another; I can see their outlines through the cloud of dust from the vanquished door, which now lies in pieces on the grimy concrete floor, miserable to match the streaked concrete of the walls and the single, muck-encrusted window.

As the dust begins to settle, Ray and Chris have already moved forwards to grab someone and force their hands behind their back, handcuffing them in one swift swoop on him. Shaz is bending down, putting her hand on the chest of the figure lying on the floor.

"Ma'am, quick!"

I am so stunned I can hardly move. My legs bend as though a stranger, an alien, is controlling them; my feet stumble as I grab the wall for support, falling onto my knees with blurred eyes taking in the sight before me, and reaching out to cradle, in my hands, the unconscious head of Gene Hunt.

* * *

Gene could feel warmth on either side of his head; hands not similar to the ones that, just moments previously, had been tugging at his clothing, pulling his shirt from his belt and running over his weak body as he lay, unable to resist, his vision blurred, his breath staggered, his mind beginning to close down, knowing the ordeal that was sure to follow.

Trying desperately hard, he opened his eyes a tiny amount; his head was a little way off the ground, suspended by someone whose identity he didn't yet know. As his sight cleared a little, he managed to make out brown curls, cascading down to smooth shoulders encased in nautical stripes…

"Alex," he murmured, seeing the woman's eyes light up as she heard his speech, her fingers brushing a little hair away from his eyes. Gene reached up blindly, trying to- well, he didn't know what he was trying to do. Alex didn't seem to mind; she simply reached down, lying his head back on the ground carefully, and grasped his hand, calling back for the team to start lifting Gene, to get him out of the basement.

More hands began reaching out for Gene's body, lifting him carefully, Alex's hand still in his and her other finding his head, supporting his aching neck as he was taken outside, into blinding light so unfamiliar after what felt like months of being inside but could only have been a couple of days. Alex's hand squeezed his, and a little voice in the back of his mind whispered that it was a poofter thing to do, but regardless, he squeezed back, his mouth curving a little into a rare smile.

As a couple of the DCs put the back seats of the Quattro down, the ones holding Gene gently placed him in the back, Alex covering him with a blanket and sliding into the front seat so she could keep an eye on him, only letting go of his hand to get in and reaching back to take it again as soon as she was seated. She needed to feel the warmth of his calloused, long-fingered hands to believe that he was there, that they had found him again, that he was safely in the back of his beloved Quattro. Ray once again rushed into the driver's seat, leaving Chris and Shaz to squeeze in with a couple of uniforms for the ride to the hospital.

Gene's spare hand clasped the upholstery of the Quattro, feeling the familiar fabric beneath his fingers and the hand he treasured the most in the world in his, clutching onto him as though she would never let him go. Just for a second, he wondered if this was another dream, conjured up by his desperate mind to try and get him through the torture he had been about to face- but his senses told him that wasn't true.

Finally feeling peace, Gene slipped once again into a calm, comfortable, reassured sleep.

* * *

A/N: I hope there will be more Galex in the next chapter, but I couldn't fit any more in here… and I also hope you enjoyed it! Please review and tell me what you thought of it, I have more radioactive ostriches should I need to deploy them, although I gave Percy away to one kind reviewer. Thanks for reading, and thanks to all my lovely reviewers, you guys rock! Jazzola :)


	7. Chapter 7

"He's stable; we've put him on a course of medication to combat the overdose. He's sleeping now."

Those two sentences are enough to bring the tears out, the ones that have been threatening me for hours now, ever since Gene was brought in. The young nurse puts her hand on my shoulder and gives me a reassuring smile before standing up and holding the door to the ward open. I had told them that I wanted to see Gene as soon as possible.

I stand up, my heart thumping but my face now once again composed, and walk through.

Gene looks so small- that's the first thing that registers as I see him lying there, hooked up to drips and monitors, his eyes closed. It's as though he has shrunk in sleep, his normal attribute of filling the room that he is in with his presence gone. His head is bandaged, the occasional tuft of blond hair finding its way out from the white cloth and flopping back to fall onto the pillow, and as I walk over and sit down the cardio monitor next to the bed bleeps.

"Gene?"

There is no response. Gene carries on sleeping, peaceful, quiet.

"Gene, it's me. Alex. The others are in the canteen, they've just arrived. You're going to be OK, so don't be worried, yeah? You'll be fine."

Gene doesn't seem to respond, but as I tuck my hand into his and bring it up to my head to kiss it, relief swimming through me as I think over the last couple of days and know that after all that he'll be OK, a machine beeps and the nurse smiles at me.

"He knows you're there. Look."

She points to the cardio monitor sitting patiently next to me. Showing on the graph is the line of his heart rate before, a steady rate of a resting man. Just as I started speaking to him and took his hand, the rate sped up.

"His heart beat faster," I murmur to myself, a smile crossing my face as I take in the graph. "He knows I'm here…"

I lean down and, before I know it, my lips have made contact with Gene's half-bandaged forehead, pressing down gently on his warm skin, breathing in his familiar scent of cigarettes and whisky like a child sniffs their cuddle blanket. Gene's eyelids flicker and I give a little gasp, but he doesn't give any more signs of waking up.

"I'm staying here, Gene," I murmur to him. "I'm staying for as long as it takes."

I hear footsteps behind me as I whisper these words, and turn to find Ray, Chris and Shaz standing a little way away, taking in Gene, their eyes finding me grasping his limp hand but their ears hopefully not picking up my words to him.

I straighten up and look round at them, giving Shaz a brave smile, which she shyly returns. We are all shaken by what has happened; Gene seemed immortal, untouchable, before this happened, and now… maybe now he's not.

"That bastard Thurley's in the cells, Ma'am," Ray says quietly, edging closer. "We, er, we wanted to know whether to charge 'im with abduction an' drugs offences or whether to add attempted r- rape on as well."

I look up at him, surprised at how hesitant he sounds, how uncertain.

"All of them, Ray. He was trying to rape Gene when we found them, so definitely all three. I want this bastard put down for as long as possible and just an abduction charge and a drugs charge won't do for me, and definitely not for the Guv, yeah?"

Ray nods and moves a little closer, beckoning for Chris and Shaz to come forward as well.

"Can 'e 'ear us?"

I nod, remembering how Gene's heart rate sped up when I spoke to him. Ray leans a little closer to the bed, looking round at me as though he expects me to bollock him for just being in Gene's proximity.

"Guv, we've got the bastard, an' 'e's goin' down for as long as we can keep 'im down. You 'ear me? 'E won't see the light o' day again until 'e's goin' up to 'eaven if we can 'elp it. We just need you to 'elp put 'im down, yeah?"

Gene doesn't seem to respond at all. Ray fidgets, looking back round at me as if I'm doing something to stop Gene replying.

"I thought you said 'e could 'ear me?"

"'E bloody well can 'ear you, you impatient bloody twonk."

I don't look down immediately at the sound of the familiar, weathered Northern voice I had wondered if I would ever hear again. My eyes are fixed on Ray's as his eyes widen, a look of shock coming over his rough features, and my face splits into a broad grin as the reality slowly sinks into my brain, my body feeling as though it is becoming physically lighter from hearing those tones.

And then I tear my sight away from him and turn to face Gene.

His half-open eyes almost seem bluer in contrast to the stark white pillow behind them; the slight wounds to his face melt away as he fixes his gaze on mine, swallowing me into his aqua orbs, still slightly glazed over with sleep but bright and engaging and so recognisably Gene's eyes.

I throw myself down and hug him, pulling his head up to rest on my shoulder, breathing in his scent once again, my hand rubbing over his back as he first recovers from my surprise attack and then sinks into my embrace, squeezing my hand gently.

"Bloody 'ell, Ma'am…"

I ignore Chris's voice and blink back my tears again, gently lying Gene back onto the bed and cupping his cheek in my palm, reminiscent of how he did it when he had just rescued me from Chas Cale's freezer. Even though I had been pretty much dead just before it had happened, I still remember it well.

His eyes tell me that he's remembering it too, and the faint smile that graces his pale lips.

"Well then, Bollinger-Knickers," he murmurs, and it's all I can do not to burst out laughing as I remember him saying those words before. As a broad smile once again takes over my mouth, I lean down to catch his next words, whispered gently into the shell of my ear. "Are you gonna kiss me, or punch me?"

I stroke his skin with my thumb, not caring that the rest of the team can see us, not caring about the feel of Ray's gaze on my back, although I can tell without turning round that Chris is simply gawping and Shaz has a huge smile on her face.

Without saying a word, I lean my head down and press my lips against his, my relief and joy at his return showing, tears leaking down my cheeks once again but my heart laughing with happiness.

* * *

I can't remember much after falling asleep in the Quattro; the blur of doctors and drips and people probing my body, sliding needles into my flesh and attaching machines to me is all that I can recall as I lie here, Bolly's hand in mine and Chris and Ray arguing over who gets the one other seat in the ward. Chris, being a gallant poof, gave up his seat to Shaz, who is now sitting next to Bolly and talking to her in a low voice, obviously thinking that I'm asleep. I'm not, ta very much. I want to wake up properly and yell at them all that I can bloody hear them, but instead the sleeping drugs given to me are keeping my eyes closed and my mind too fuzzy to wake up for real.

"Do they know 'ow bad 'is injuries are yet, Ma'am?"

Ah, now this is interesting. I want to know what's happening with my own body, so I tune in like a radio to the conversation.

"He had a huge overdose of sedating drugs when they were holding him prisoner, so there's that, and then the injuries they gave him and the ones he sustained trying to break free as well."

She lifts my wrist and slides the hospital shirt back from my wrist to show Shaz the bandages on my arms, hiding the deep abrasions from sight and touch but giving an accurate impression of how bad they are. Shaz sucks her breath in audibly; behind her, Ray hisses in anger at the sight of my injury. I hate being shown off like a prize animal, especially when I'm injured, so I pull my arm away, resting it back on the mattress and turning my head away. Bolly puts her hand on my cheek and leans over to murmur a sorry to me, her breath warm and softly scented on my skin, reassuring.

A nurse comes through and ushers the others out, telling them they can come back tomorrow. Ray claps me gently on the shoulder, Chris settles for putting his hand on my arm and Shaz gently kisses my cheek. I open my eyes long enough to murmur "you put the bastard down so fast 'e'll need a new arse'ole by 1990, you 'ear?" and hear their goodbyes before the nurse comes in to up the drugs and I slide once again into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Outside the hospital, a lone figure creeps past the bright red Quattro, the rear seats visibly blood-stained, his black hoodie obscuring his face and his footsteps muffled. The figure walks over to a small copse next to the hospital, sitting down on a tree stump. Waiting.

A second figure appears, also disguised, face hidden to peering eyes as he stalks past the car, this time making his examination of the vehicle more obvious, looking right in, tracing a pattern on the window with his gloved finger. The first figure holds his breath.

The second man walks right up to the tree stump now, not caring that prying eyes might be watching, bold as freshly-polished brass.

"Is 'e in there?"

The first man nods.

"I saw them take him in. He looked to be in a bad way. We can't take him yet, Liam, he needs time to recuperate, get well again. He could barely open his eyes."

Liam shakes his head.

"There's no time. 'E needs to know what 'e's up against. If we wait any longer, they'll get to 'im. They might blow up the 'ospital if they cotton on that he's here, I wouldn' put anythin' past 'em. Just his presence puts the whole place in jeopardy and they don't know anythin' about it."

"He'll need a specialist transfer. How would we explain that?"

"I don't know. But Gene's strong. 'E can 'old on."

The first man snorts softly.

"You have every faith in Gene, but how can you, when you know what happened to his own brother?"

"Do not forget 'oo 'e was," his companion snaps, his demeanour changing. "I know Gene better than anyone else in this world, except for maybe his team. 'E can 'old on, 'e will 'old on, especially if 'e's helped. 'E's not the Manc Lion for nothing."

The first man seems to accept this, leaning back, completely unperturbed by his friend's outburst.

"The entire criminal fraternity of London is looking for Gene Hunt. We need a plan to keep him safe. Put it out to the newspapers, TV stations, etc. that he is dead and that a police burial will be carried out for him as an officer who died doing the job he fought to do. Bring his department in on this plan, they need to know anyway. To avoid outright warfare, we need to play this softly-softly. As your Gene wouldn't say."

The second man grins, a small laugh escaping his thin, pale lips.

"Gene doesn't believe in softly-softly, 'e believes in all guns blazin', everyone screamin' an' plenty o' police brutality. It's always worked for 'im in the past, unless they've 'ad guns as well. Like somethin' out o' the Vietnam War, 'is body is. Full o' bullet 'oles."

"How would you know?"

"Marian saw 'im one time, when 'e'd been brought into 'ospital after a shot to the stomach that they needed to check out. It'd buried itself in the flesh, but they didn' know that, they were thinkin' it'd punctured his guts good an' proper. Full body examination, she said, an' she could 'ardly believe it."

The first man smiles.

"He's a good man. I'll leave you to iron out the finer points of the plan; I must be off. Keeping undercover in these circumstances is tricky."

Liam nods.

"Good man. I'll be 'eadin' in to see 'im."

"Risky, Liam."

"This tree stump cares more than I do. We live for the risks."

Liam's companion nods, bids him a swift farewell, and moves off into the night, the cold air swallowing him as he glides silently away. Liam turns and watches the hospital for a couple of minutes, composing himself inside, before standing up, gathering his clothing around him, and heading towards the luminescent entrance to the Royal London Hospital.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the huge delay on this, exams, you know… anyway, please review, and thanks to all my reviewers and alerters and favouriters! You rule! Jazzola :)


	8. Chapter 8

It's getting dark in the ward as night sets in; I flat out refused to leave Gene at the end of visiting time, protesting that I, as a police officer, was protecting him against any repercussion attacks after he was abducted. I'm not sure the nurses really believe me, but the thing that matters to me- staying with Gene- has been achieved, and I've even been able to have something to eat beside the bed and find a comfy chair that I can doze in next to him, ready to wake up when he does.

Gene shifts slightly in his sleep, the last effects of the medication given to him earlier keeping him asleep but not idle. The moonlight throws the injuries to his face into sharp relief, and I clench the fist not clutching his hand, thinking of the sallow, evil man who, when we had gotten there, had been exposing himself, ready to take Gene in the worst way possible, stroking him in a way I didn't even want to think about, blood on the tips of his fingers and Gene lying motionless below him…

"No," I hiss, focusing on Gene as I can see him now, forcing the memories from my head, reaching out with a hand shaking from recalled fright to stroke Gene's forehead and leaning down to press my lips to his cold cheek, feeling him stir beneath my mouth and smiling onto his skin. I close my eyes, feeling almost peaceful as I once again breathe in the familiar scent, sensing his warmth so close to me and leaning to rest my head on his broad chest, reassured by the slow rise and fall of his steady, calm breathing. I had never thought before this day that the Manc Lion could ever be described as "calm", but it would seem he can.

Just as I think this, the gentle padding of rubber soles on linoleum shatters the silence and the door eases open, the faint squeak of rusted hinges accessorising the movement, stopping halfway as though it was unsure whether to carry on opening and then opening fully. I hold my breath, feeling Gene's breathing hitch under my cheek, startled and terrified…

Just as I swing round to confront the person behind me, a hand slaps over my mouth.

I squeal, terrified, fighting the person, hearing Gene's confused cry echo through the room and feeling his strong hands on the intruder's arms, pulling with all his diminished might but not enough to stop them- my brain is going woozy as I breathe in a bitter smell and I can feel myself sliding into unconsciousness- no- must- protect- Gene…

My last thought is of Gene as I slide to the floor, dead to the world, my eyes closing and my limbs limp.

* * *

"What the… Liam?"

Well, that wasn't expected. Waking up to find my DI collapsing next to my hospital bed and my nephew standing next to me, the one I haven't seen in three years, is not what I was expecting.

"What the bloody 'ell 'ave you done to my DI, you twonk?"

"You don' change a bit, Uncle Gene," Liam replies, almost laughing as he bends down and hugs me, hoisting me up a little from the hospital bed. I pull back, looking down at Bolly unconscious on the floor, biting my lip.

"Would you mind tellin' me wha' all that was about?"

"Sorry, Uncle Gene," Liam murmurs, leaning me back down and crouching to pick Bolly up, depositing her in the chair before looking back at me. "Just that I 'ad to knock 'er out, can't 'ave 'er 'earin' this."

"'Earin' what? Spit it out, Liam."

"Well…"

Liam looks around carefully, his eyes delving into every corner, his hand grabbing my arm at the slightest noise from the hospital. Even the bleeping from the cardio monitor is making him jump. Back home in Manchester he was laid-back, relaxed, but here he's jumpier than a nun in a brothel.

"There's this organisation, Uncle Gene. Your captor belonged to it, tha's why 'e was picked to keep you prisoner- that an' 'is police links. They're out to get coppers like you, coppers who've got reputations for upholdin' the law, puttin' away the scum. An' you're practically the dictionary definition o' that. We need to take you out o' 'ere, take you somewhere where they can't find you an' 'ave another go at you."

Sensing a difficulty with this, I motion to the cardio monitor and the machines and drips round my bed, my expression turning irritable.

"An' 'ow're you plannin' on doin' that, Ein bloody Stein?"

"You never changed," Liam snorts, grinning despite his strained face, the lines on his cheeks showing the stress he chooses to keep inside. He reaches out and gently disconnects one of the machines from my arm, silencing the gentle bleep of the monitor next to me. I frown, not sure that that's a good decision.

"Liam, as Bolly would say, those are there for a purpose…"

"Who's Bolly?" Liam asks, confused, turning his attention to another machine. I jerk my arm away from him and look round towards the woman in question, nodding to her and sliding my legs over the edge of the bed, managing to stand up shakily and frowning at Liam as he rushes over to support me, leaning down to pick her up and staggering; it's not her weight that's the problem, it's me not having moved properly for days.

"Give over, Uncle Gene. You're not strong enough yet."

I growl at him, but for once he's muttering sense and I step back to let him pick Bolly up and deposit her in a chair, taking in her closed eyes and beautiful, gently curved face, lit up to perfection by the scant moonlight and the pale strip lighting in the ward, feeling a fluttering in the pit of my stomach- scratch that, Gene Hunt doesn't have feelings like that, he doesn't get nancy butterflies at the sight of a woman, he just doesn't- and sitting back on the bed, feeling weakness in my legs and cursing my stupid body and the bloody bastard who made me like this.

"Thank you," Liam says quietly, sitting next to me and reaching out to grasp my wrist, aiming for a drip. I close my eyes, resigning myself, readying my body to feel the sharp pinch of the needle sliding from my flesh, the steady trickle of unwelcome, hideously warm blood from the fresh wound-

"Leave that where it is, whoever you are!"

My eyes snap open as Bolly grabs my arm and forces Liam away from me, her eyes filled with rage, her strong hands pushing Liam from me and forcing me behind her as she fights like a wildcat, too furious and quick for Liam to resist-

"Bolly!"

She stops abruptly, staring round at me, her fingers instinctively finding mine and concern flashing over her face as she sees me.

"Gene, what's going on?"

I look down at my lap, knowing that she won't like this explanation.

That's when she turns and slaps Liam.

* * *

"OW!"

The stranger yelps with pain, the hints of a Mancunian accent not dissimilar from Gene's around the edges of his voice, recoiling from my hand and staring at me, his eyes wide and a familiar shade of blue in the faint light of the ward. _Gene's supposed to be sleeping, it's not good for him to be up at all hours the way he is now, _my brain whispers.

"Gene… what the hell is going on?" I pant, turning to him and checking the monitors. There's some sound missing in the ward, and as I look him over I realise that it's the cardio monitor; the steady, reassuring, mechanical bleep is gone.

"The cardio monitor…"

I dive for the armband, but a hand stops me.

"Who would you be?"

I look up again, finding the eyes of the man who had been- well, I didn't know exactly what he had been doing. On the one hand, he had been about to take the drips out from Gene, and was slowly but steadily disconnecting Gene from the hospital equipment put there to monitor and protect him. But on the other hand, Gene had been doing nothing to stop him, and the way he had been simply bracing himself told me that he was resigned to this happening, that this was all going according to plan and he knew what was coming before it came.

"DI Alex Drake," I reply snappishly, pulling my warrant card and shoving it in front of his face. The man looks in confusion at Gene.

"I thought you said her name was Bolly?"

"'S a nickname," Gene mutters, focusing on the bedclothes. "Bolly, Liam's my nephew. You're goin' to 'ave to explain to 'er, Liam, she wants to know an' she won't let me go unless she knows where I'm goin' an' why."

I whirl round, focusing on this Liam, seeing in a second the family resemblance but my head taken up with what Gene has just said.

"Where is he going, why are you taking him and why does he have to leave the hospital?"

Liam looks round at Gene, raising his eyebrows as if to say "Jesus, one question at a time, please!" I find myself gritting my teeth at him, and his expression changes; he knows I mean business now.

"Uncle Gene is in danger, DI Drake. Immediate danger. From people 'e's banged up, from people 'e's foiled. I know you won't want to 'ear it, but it's true an' these people, they're tryin' to literally take over London. They don't care 'ow many people they 'urt in the process- Gene was the first o' many as far as they're concerned. 'E's too well-known around 'ere; once they know 'e's not dead they'll be onto 'im like flies to a bloody road-kill. We're takin' 'im to safety, somewhere where they won't find 'im until 'e's at least well again." Gene huffs but allows Liam to continue, sitting back and studying his nephew's shadowy face, cast into sharp relief and darkness by the moonlight. "'E needs time, an' we're givin' 'im a secure place to go until 'e can face the scum an' win again."

Liam turns and looks me straight in the eye as I grasp Gene's arm hard, unable to believe, take in, what he is telling me. Gene's basically the subject of a… manhunt? How appropriate, a little part of my brain whispers- the rest is paralysed in shock, totally unable to take in what it is being told, the awful, screaming truth.

"You make me sound like I'm a bloody double amputee rather than a bit bruised, Liam," Gene mutters, his expression displeased. Liam's lip twitches.

""A bit bruised" wouldn't be 'ow I'd describe it, Uncle Gene, but as you wish. Anyway, we 'ave the van ready now, waitin' outside patiently- are you comin'?"

I hold my breath, looking round the ward, my eyes scanning for any other sign of life in the small room. Nothing seems to be there, but I take a tour of the place, just to make sure.

"What about… what about you, Bolly?" Gene asks almost hesitantly, his bright blue irises seeking mine out, an almost pleading sound in his voice as he reaches out gently to touch my arm.

"She'll 'ave to come now," Liam growls, turning to me, his displeasure obvious in his eyes, an emotion rarely seen in Gene's. "Can't leave 'er 'ere for them to find, can we? She'll be next on their bloody list, knowin' 'em."

"What list?" I ask, earning myself a frown from Liam and a quick squeeze of the hand from Gene.

"Their list o' targets, DI Drake. Call yourself a detective?" Liam sneers, glaring at me.

"OI!" Gene hisses, clenching his fist at Liam, who dives away, seeking solace behind the visitor's chair that Shaz sat on what seems like so long ago, after these disturbing revelations.

"Uncle Gene, please!"

"Gene, control yourself, if we're discovered now it's Doomsday for all three of us," I hiss, earning myself a disgruntled look from Gene and a slightly approving nod from Liam, who crosses the room to close the curtains and turns back to pick up Gene's wrist and finally begin taking the drip out. I watch, now content to let him in the knowledge that it's temporary, wincing as the metal slides in slow motion from Gene's reddened skin and he jerks his hand back at the cruel sensation.

Sliding Gene's coat over his shoulders as Liam wraps bandages round his bleeding wrists and Gene huddles in the warmth of his outerwear, we gently raise him from the bed and start towards the doorway-

All three of us shriek and dive for the floor as the window shatters, a crack resounding through the air and bullets shredding the plaster on the wall where Gene's shadow had been seconds before.

* * *

A/N: Ooh… wowee, aren't I evil? Sorry for the huge delay, my absolute most sincere apologies, but I had Physics and German exams and they took up a lot of time… please remember to review, or my radioactive ostriches will come and find you and give you a mild case of death. Thank you! :D Jazzola :)


	9. Chapter 9

"GET DOWN!"

Gene throws himself under the bed with surprising energy for someone who was all but dead to the world ten minutes before, splaying himself out to allow me to clamber on top of him. His characteristic smirk isn't lost on me, despite the situation, and I wink at him before pulling the bed across slightly to give us more shelter, rendering him speechless for a few seconds, a very rare occurrence with Gene Hunt. Opposite us, Liam is sheltering behind the visiting chair, using the seat to protect himself, his body banked against the small piece of furniture as he closes his eyes and waits for the barrage to end.

Within seconds, it is over. The window is in smithereens, bullets littering a vaguely Gene-shaped area of the wall and the three of us breathing heavily, staring round at each other. There is a new tenseness in the room, infusing the air with heaviness, making the silence almost suffocating.

And then Liam peeks round and checks for people outside and motions to us that it is safe, scrambling out from behind the chair and lifting the bed up to allow us to get out easily. I jump up and haul Gene gently with me, dusting us both off and cursing the hospital cleaners quietly as I peel half a roll of Sellotape off from my skirt.

"Gene, you OK?" Gene nods, taking in the wall, his already pale face greying.

"Come on, let's get you out o' 'ere," Liam says quietly, looking around quickly again, grabbing Gene's sleeve and pulling him out of the room behind him, leaving me to tag along, feeling very much the third wheel as Liam signals for the armoured van ready in front of the hospital to come towards us and open the reinforced doors to protect us as we make our way to it.

Shielded by the dark metal and still shaking with fright from our narrow escape, I accompany Gene to the vehicle, still clutching his arm, half to keep him steady and half to reassure myself. I could feel him trembling with shock under my fingers, his normally composed body shuddering and his eyes downcast, not making contact with my gaze.

"Gene, talk to me," I murmur as the van draws off, the engine whining under us, signs on the doors proclaiming that this van was made in 1976. I'm not bloody surprised; it's a wreck, the seats hanging off their cradles and stuffing spilling from cracks in the ugly dark leather. Gene looks up at me, still in shock, allowing himself to squeeze my hand as I sit down next to him and wrap the coat firmly around him.

"Gerroff, Bolly. I'm fine."

I draw back and watch him as he pulls the coat taut on his back and leans against the wall of the van, only to leap up with a yelp as a bullet thuds into the thick metal, another accompanying it after a second, soon the single bullets becoming a deadly volley of lead at the defended sheen of the vehicle. The two of us huddle in the centre of the van, Liam ducking down to the floor with a gasp of terror, huddling into himself and squeezing his eyes shut. A little voice in the back of my head whispers, _Not so tough now, are you, pal? _and I remind myself that this is Gene's nephew and the son of his late brother, and I should be nicer to him, if only for Gene's sake. That and he appears to have just saved both our bacon.

The gunfire gradually peters out, becoming faint and then stopping altogether. Liam breathes a sigh of relief and stands up again, the marks from his fingers digging into his arms obvious on his pale skin, reminiscent of Gene's but minus the tan from being out on the streets so much. His hair is swept back as he runs a hand through it, emphasising the similarities in their faces and expressions. Liam is wearing the disgruntled expression Gene seems to be fond of as he calls forward to one of the drivers telling him to step on it, except minus the pout that seems to be unique to the Manc Lion. Not that he'd admit it.

"Come on, are you deliverin' milk or getting' a man to a hospital? Step on it, you snail-imitating bastards!"

The two men in the front swear back angrily, but the speed of the van goes up and Liam sits down with a satisfied look on his face.

"We're taking you to a high-security hospital, Uncle Gene. Your DI'll have to stay there as well, we can't 'ave 'er blabbin' about it all."

"Bolly wouldn'," Gene retorts confidently, letting me place my hand in his, to reassure both of us; he's still shaking from his recent close shave. I don't blame him; I was reduced to a nervous wreck after that car bomb incident with the Thatcherite wanker businessman.

"How do you know?" Liam challenges, his eyes boring into mine, reminding me of Gene interviewing suspects- the same air of authority and challenging hangs in the air between us.

"Because Bolly's been wi' me for long enough for me to know," Gene says simply, swatting Liam's attack off as though it was an irritating fly. I give him a thankful look and tuck my hand back in his, mentally almost crying with relief that Gene can now trust me full-heartedly.

"We've arrived," one of the men in the front calls through. I see gates opening ahead of us and someone directing us through, peeking in the back at the three of us and nodding.

Liam steps out and brings us out as well, Gene shivering in the cool night air and me huddling into him to warm us both up. Several spotlights illuminate a large red-brick building with custard-yellow panels accessorising it, a quadrangle of glass in the centre of the place, just about visible through a huge pane of glass next to the front entrance doors. A few smaller buildings, built in cream brick, dot the surrounding land, some a few stories high but most only one floor. The place looks like a slightly ordinary film set with all the people walking around with guns and equipment, walkie-talkies hanging from their shoulders and bunches of keys jingling on hips. I can feel my eyes widening taking the place in.

One of the guards turns and gives us a smile, his pink, slightly baby-cheeked face bright and happy, a real contrast to the assault rifle in his arms.

"Welcome to MI5."

* * *

_MI bloody 5? What the bloody hell have I got myself into?_

The guards show me and Bolly into a small room away from the big central compound, the only accessories being a hospital-style bed, all the machines that they had back at the hospital, and a chair next to the wall. A TV screen sits a little way above the bed, wires going into the wall from it, brackets supporting the set; I smirk at the memories of Sam Tyler putting the TV up in the Railway Arms on brackets, and then, despite his assurances to the contrary, it falling down a day later.

As I look up at it, the room swirls around me; gasping, I grab the back of the chair, closing my eyes. The effects of the hospital drugs are wearing off, and I can feel nausea sliding into my stomach as Bolly drags me towards the bed and begins to yanks the coat from my shoulders.

"Don't, Bolls… I…"

"You what, Gene?"

"I can do it for myself."

I make to take my coat off, peeling it from my body and dropping it on the floor as I lean back onto the headrest, closing my eyes briefly but opening them again and protesting as Bolly slides me down.

"You're ill, Gene, so get some sleep. Someone should be in shortly to get you all set up."

Too tired to reply, I let her pull the duvet over me, tugging my boots off herself and swerving round as Liam comes in. Through a haze of fatigue, I register my nephew's voice, reminding me of my brother's low tones and slow rhythm.

"He'll be exhausted. Let him sleep, DI Drake."

I don't catch Bolly's curt reply, but she doesn't sound pleased. The scraping of chair legs on flooring and the softness of Bolly's hand on top of mine, resting on the duvet, is enough for my senses to explore as I begin to drift off.

_What happened to the big tough Manc Lion? He doesn't "drift off" holding a bird's hand. What's happened to you, Gene? I thought you were a DCI, not a bloody WPC!_

Almost ashamed, I open my eyes. Bolly's still next to me, her own eyes closed, a blanket draped over her, her hand in mine. I make to jerk it out, groaning slightly as her hand grabs mine and she murmurs "you're not getting away" before going back to sleep.

"She's attached to you, Uncle Gene," Liam says from the other side of the room, pressing a button on the wall and walking over. "May not be a good thin'. Remember the ex?"

"All too bloody vividly," I mutter, pushing myself one-armed into a sitting position. Liam grins.

"You ready to 'ave another one yet, then?"

"Bloody 'ell, Liam, she's my DI! Give me some bloody time!"

"I saw you kissin' 'er when you woke up, an' it didn't look that innocent to me. You're smitten wi' 'er, you wouldn' even squeeze the nurse's 'and when she was doin' your observations at the 'ospital."

"Stubbornness."

"More like it was the wrong 'and."

I ignore him, leaning back and closing my eyes again, briefly noticing that someone is coming towards me with a needle in their fingers.

"OW!"

Bolly starts awake, staring round at me as I wince, a fresh drip in my wrist and the doctor connecting it up to a plastic vial of clear liquid, grimacing at me sympathetically.

"I apologise, Mr Hunt, they do sting a bit."

Bolly reaches over calmly, grasps my hand and begins smoothing her fingers around the drip, the sore and reddening skin protesting at her touch.

"What are you doin', woman?"

Bolly, ignoring me, simply carries on; as her fingers glide over my flesh, the pain begins to dissipate. I stare down at her hands as my skin tingles and numbs, the only thing affecting it her smoothing.

"Bloody 'ell, what was that?" Liam asks incredulously, voicing my thoughts exactly.

"Pain decreasing using movement and massage of the skin. I used it on Molly when she was a baby, on her nappy rash."

I wince, trying not to keep the sudden mental image of Bolly massaging a baby's plump red arse out of my head. Liam cringes on the other side of the room, hurriedly turning away to hide his red cheeks; Bolly just shrugs, muttering something about men, and turns to help the doctor with putting the heart monitor band on my arm.

"We've got everything sorted now, Mr Hunt, hopefully you'll be able to sleep in peace," the doctor tells me quietly, giving me a quick smile and hurrying away. Bolly stiffens slightly as Liam walks over and sits down on the edge of the bed, giving me a quick smile, the same smile that reminds me so much of Stu; for a moment I have to look away.

"You won't be 'ere for long, Uncle Gene," Liam reminds me, his eyes on mine, a flicker of something passing through them as I look back at him; he saw the direction of my eyes change. To save face, I look round at Bolly and see her nodding at me, her expression calm.

"Get some sleep."

The doctor quietly intones his wisdom from the doorway, and normally I would be protesting, not wanting to follow orders from someone I don't even know, but not today. So much has happened; Liam, this organisation, MI5… I hardly know which way is bloody up any more.

So instead of trying to figure it all out, I just lie back and go to sleep, letting the medication take me off, Bolly grasping my fingers just before I go to sleep.

Even if I had the energy to, I wouldn't throw her off.

* * *

A/N: Massive apologies to the people I promised I would post this yesterday, but homework and real life got in the way… here, have some virtual chocolate from me to say sorry. Sorry again! :L I hope you liked it, I'm waiting for those reviews… thanks hugely to everyone who reviews and has reviewed! Jazzola :)


	10. Chapter 10

Sunlight is streaming in through the window as I open my eyes, finding that my fingers are still clasped in Gene's and that he's on his side, snoring like a rhino with catarrh. Smiling to myself at how some things never change, I give a one-armed stretch and look round as Liam walks in with a tray of breakfast, giving me a small smile as he sets it down next to me. Slightly burnt toast, just the way I like it, with my favourite blackberry jam topping it.

"Someone's got it right," I say appraisingly, reaching out to nab a slice and stuff it into my mouth, suddenly ravenous. As I wipe crumbs from my mouth Liam bursts out laughing, sitting down next to me and taking a KitKat out of his pocket, accompanied by a Mars bar and a Cadbury's Flake.

"You look like you enjoyed tha'," he chuckles, biting down on the KitKat, spraying crumbs everywhere as he speaks, a little like Gene when he's in a hurry. I grin through another mouthful and instantly regret it, covering my mouth hurriedly, but Liam just chuckles and carries on munching himself.

"I like a woman 'oo likes her food."

I give Liam a sideways look, unsure of whether he's hitting on me or not. He shakes his head quickly, his eyes widening at his realisation.

"Oh no, no, you're Uncle Gene's. Don't worry, I know that."

He glances down at his uncle on the bed, his eyes taking in the dead-to-the-world man, who now thankfully has stopped snoring.

"He deserves a good woman after what 'appened with 'im and Marie. God, that was a bad business, that was- an' I always knew she was no good for 'im. Still, wasn't their fault what 'appened, an' Gene wasn' exactly the 'omely sort anyway, out at all hours. The one thing Gene did was defend 'is honour; 'e never 'ad any pieces on the side. 'E pretended to once, some undercover thing back in Manchester, but really 'e just tied 'er up an' gagged 'er an' went back afterwards to explain. Back with 'is Sam Tyler… oh, those were the days, those were."

I cock my head to one side, letting him talk, watching as his eyes light up with the memories of life back in Manchester, of the Manc Lion back in his home jungle. His hands fly through the air, and my expression, when it's not too busy bulging with toast and blackberry jam, takes on suitable expressions, either laughing or gasping or shocked or quietly amused or horrified at some of the tales.

"Ray got caught in a car bomb?"

"An' 'e was back at work the same day. Ray's a determined bugger, just wants to impress 'is Guv from what I've 'eard."

"You're not far wrong there, no…"

A thought strikes me so hard I drop the rest of the toast, yelping out loud; Liam jumps about five feet in the air, and Gene stirs sleepily, sitting up and asking what I made that bloody noise for.

"The rest of the team! What've they been told? They'll be devastated if they've been told that Gene's dead, you can't tell them that, and what have the media been told? There was extensive media coverage of the whole case-"

"Alex, calm down," Liam butts in quickly, grabbing me by the shoulders. Gene grasps my hand and starts gently stroking my wrist, which for some reason always seems to calm me down.

"I'm sorry to 'ave to tell you this, but the team 'ave been told that Gene died in the night an' 'is body 'as been taken for post-mortem examinations. The excuse for your disappearance is that you're deeply traumatised by 'is death an' 'ad to be sedated for your own good, and are bein' kept in isolation in another 'ospital until you've recovered. Understandably the team are upset, but these aren't fluffy bunny rabbits we're dealin' with, these are 'ardened criminals 'oo wouldn't 'esitate to kill you an' Gene if they found you. 'Opefully you understand the risks attached to these operations."

I nod, seeing Gene do the same out of the corner of my eye, wiping sleep from his eyelashes but his face alert, solemn.

Liam gives us a brief, slightly strained smile; suddenly the energy and life is gone from him, replaced by a man who looks and seems weary, the sparkle dimmed in his bright aqua eyes, the curve vanished from his lips as he turns and examines Gene gently, checking the drip is still in his wrist, giving him a one-armed hug to say good morning and going out to fetch some food for him. Gene's still almost permanently tired, but he's improving tenfold and he's certainly much better than he was back in the hospital, despite the turbulence of his trip here.

The long hours seem to drag; with no contact with the outside world minus the TV on its brackets on the wall, I try talking with Gene, fishing a notepad out from somewhere in my bag and playing a game or two of Hangman with him. His words I don't guess- "Manchester" and "Fenchurch", despite them being so familiar- but he gets "psychology" and "psychiatry" straight away. I try to hide my surprise as he sits back with a satisfied grin and claims the prize- the Mars bar Liam brought in and left on the bedside table. Liam returns just as Gene throws the last bit into his mouth, observes his uncle with a disgruntled expression, mutters that he was looking for that and leaves, presumably to get another one. I almost wet myself laughing at the look on his face.

"I didn't think chocolate was that important," I cough, Gene smirking to himself at the sight of me.

"You obviously don' know us Hunt men as well as you thought you did, then, Bolls. Chocolate's our bloody panacea, along with whisky an' fags."

I smile to myself.

"I'm pretty certain you didn't use words like "panacea" before I came along, Gene. Seems like I'm having an impact!"

Gene abruptly turns a surprisingly deep shade of red and becomes very interested in the hem of his pyjama top.

* * *

As soon as Bolly leaves to go to the loo, I sink back onto the bed, my thoughts turning abruptly to my team. I let her persuade me to play a poofter game- she never thought I'd beat her at Hangman, but as I always say, I'm a man of many talents- to keep the thoughts at bay, the memories that I knew would come as soon as I wasn't doing something.

Ray, Chris and Shaz. They've been told I'm dead…

I try to imagine CID as it might be now. Ray would be in his bloody ancient funeral-style suit, trying half-heartedly to joke with the others, his face sombre when it's finished its attempt at laughter. Chris sitting at his desk as usual, eyes downcast, not looking up at all, not joining in with the laughter. Shaz in black, watery eyes not making contact with anyone else's, trying hard not to cry and look like a weak woman in CID. The DCs all clustered around, making an effort to make conversation, knowing that whatever they say, it'll fall on ears that aren't interested. Would someone be talking about me? Would they be remembering their Guv, the things I did, cases I solved, the famous Guv-and-Ma'am confrontations that I'm almost starting to miss?

A pang goes through my stomach as I realise that this isn't some scene in my imagination; this is what's actually happening out there. They're actually bloody mourning. For me. Bloody hell, that seems so weird, especially when I'm still alive. Wouldn't seem quite so odd if I was actually dead.

Bolly comes back in, or at least, I think she did; it takes five attempts for her to rouse me out of my thoughts and bring me back into the semblance of the real world I've found myself in.

"Earth to Planet Hunt!" she laughs, sitting down next to me and wiping her hands on her skirt, making some half-arsed complaint about the hand towel dispenser being empty. I can't take my eyes off her slender, slightly soapy hands, glistening in the strong light from the window, sliding gently down the dark red material of her skirt, stuttering slightly in their fluent arc due to the grip from the cloth on her hands.

"Typical man," Bolly tuts, but the edges of her mouth are curved into a smile and she just sits down and reaches out for the TV remote, turning it on so as to create something to do.

BBC News at Eight O'Clock comes on, the familiar theme tune like a friend giving me a little wave from the middle of a huge crowd of strangers, a little reassurance that lets me know I'm still in the real world, at least for now.

Some armed robbery on the other side of Bristol in which a man died is one of the main articles; the man was the recently elected mayor of the town, who was shot in the bank while trying to take some money out to buy his wife a birthday present. Alex beside me is sighing at the tragedy of it all; I curse the incompetent bloody idiots who let it happen in the first place and the robbers, one of whom has been caught.

A fire in Northumberland which has destroyed a whole high street but luckily killed no-one. A rapist is sentenced in a court for raping a young girl; I'd heard about the case somewhere before, vaguely remembered it.

The newsreader shuffles his papers before starting the next article, his face changing from one solemn to another.

"A London police officer has died in hospital after being held hostage by an ex police officer on his own patch. Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt died from injuries given to him by the as of yet unnamed man and the effects of an overdose of hospital sedative administered to him by the attacker. He is due to be given a police state funeral after a post-mortem has determined exactly what the cause of death was. Detective Inspector Alex Drake has been hospitalised due to severe grief-induced trauma; the rest of DCI Hunt's team have paid public tributes to him, saying that he had "a lion's heart" and was "like a father to all of them in CID". The Chief Commissioner has also paid tribute to him, saying his courage was "unrivalled in the police force" and "a great attribute of his". This is yet another blow for the Metropolitan Police Force's death toll, which has been rising in recent years. DCI Hunt was well-known in his area, and has been described as "one of the best coppers this patch has ever had" by many of the people living in Fenchurch East's radius."

I could barely believe it.

BBC News was broadcasting my supposed death on the Eight O'Clock News, for the entire country to see, with "tributes" from my officers and from the Chief Commissioner personally saying something about me.

I felt like screaming.

Instead of that, I just turned the TV off, leaning back and groaning, accepting Bolly's hand in mine and wondering when in my memory the world had turned to shit.

* * *

I think Gene seeing his own death broadcast shook him a bit; he's now lying back, his eyes closed, letting me hold onto his hand but showing no other signs of consciousness. Liam comes in and tiptoes back out again after I mouth what's happened, taking the TV remote with him so that Gene won't be tempted to turn the TV on again. If Gene had seen, he would probably have been indignant at being treated like some kind of child, but as it is, I doubt he'd taken anything in of his nephew's visit.

"Gene?" I murmur tentatively, reaching out again, putting my hand on his arm, trying to rouse him. He shakes his head and gently throws me off, and understanding that he needs to be alone with his own thoughts but wouldn't tell me so in a million years, I stand up and go outside, softly closing and locking the door behind me, taking no chances with his safety.

I can hear Liam on the phone a little way away; his words are indistinct, but his tone is slightly threatened, as if he's on the phone to someone he doesn't really want to talk to. I creep towards him, on my toes to create minimum noise with my killer stilettos, tuning in as well as I can to his conversation even though I know I shouldn't really be eavesdropping on Liam's private conversations.

"'E's 'ere. I've got 'im 'idden, an' the press think 'e's dead. You can come an' collect 'im if you want. I'll take care o' the woman 'e's with, she's small fry, should be worth a couple o' punches if she's 'ard enough. The big prey's Uncle Gene."

My breath catches in my dry throat.

He's talking about giving Gene up to someone. Someone who doesn't sound friendly.

No longer caring about sound, I turn on my heel and run towards the room again, demanding that the door be opened, almost flying in and ripping the cardio monitor off Gene's arm, the drip coming off afterwards, carefully eased out by my shaking fingers.

Gene watches in astonishment.

"What's all this about, Bolls?"

I don't even pause in grabbing his jacket and draping it over his body, yanking my bag with his clothes in from under my chair and pulling him upright.

"We've got to get out of here- now."

* * *

A/N: Once again, sorry for the delay, and for those of you who haven't checked out "Living Without Gene", it would be a huge favour to me if you did and I would thank you very, very much. Please drop me a review, you would be amazing if you did :D Thank you for reading! Jazzola :)


	11. Chapter 11

Despite Gene still being ill, we manage to get out of the room in about ten seconds, confusing the guards but not allowing them time to question us; time is of the essence, as Molly used to frequently say whenever she was late for school. Which was often, due to the seemingly gravitational pull of the Nintendo Wii.

"Where are we goin'?" Gene pants, clutching at a stitch in his side, limping behind one of the buildings with me and leaning against the scarlet brick, his breathing staggered and heavy. For a second I feel almost wrecked by Liam's treachery of his uncle, wondering if I should tell Gene about it, but dismiss the thought for now. We can discuss that when we're safe.

"Shut up and follow me," I hiss back at him, grabbing his arm and pulling him after me, merciless in my concern to save his life. Gene complains, yanking his arm out of my grasp, but I simply grab it again and tug at my bag, the police radio I always carry around slipping out and into my hands.

"DI Carling, are you receiving me? Over."

There is silence from the radio for a couple of seconds, probably because whoever has heard it is too stunned to pick it up. I visibly relax as a crackling comes through and Chris's voice, sounding tired and strained, comes through.

"Ma'am, where're you radioing from?"

"MI5," I reply quickly, not waiting for his response. "Listen, Chris, I can get myself and the Guv to the Hammers fairly quickly-"

"The Guv? Ma'am, the Guv's d-dead…"

"No he's not, he's right here with me, albeit injured and in the kind of state where he should by rights be in hospital. Chris, I know what you've been told, I am not mad and Gene is alive, but we're both in immediate danger and we need your help. I need you to bring the Quattro to the Hammers and pick us both up; we can make a plan when we're somewhere safer. OK?"

Chris pauses, obviously undecided. I bite my lip, but smile slightly as he radios back that he will.

"Thank you, Chris."

I make to put the radio back in my bag, but Chris's sudden transmission stops me, jerking my hand back from my bag.

"Can I… can I speak to the Guv?"

Sensing that he needs to know what he's getting into, I pass the radio to Gene, who holds it up to his mouth, a slight frown creasing his forehead but his voice assured as he speaks into the microphone.

"Chris, we need you to go along wi' this. I'm 'ere, I'm not dead, but accordin' to Bolly 'ere I might be soon if you lot don' 'elp us out. OK? Get the Quattro to the 'Ammers quick as you can, we'll meet there. I promise you this isn't a wind-up, it is me and I'm alive. We'll tell you what's goin' on when we're somewhere where we're not in imminent danger o' gettin' our 'eads blown off, OK? Get to it."

Chris, sounding a little more convinced than before, briefly transmits an OK. The radio goes silent.

* * *

Going back to the room, Liam's thoughts were full of uncertainty and turmoil, his quick brain that his uncle helped him hone almost dithering, trying to make up an excuse to feed to the guards to get his uncle out from the room. Despite Gene's obvious ill-health, the DCI was in a lot of danger and this was all for his own good.

Liam stopped dead as he saw the opened door, the guards gone and the protection for the room vanished. Peering inside, the cardio monitor band lay desolate on the floor, the drip leaking onto the tiles next to it. Gene and Alex were long gone.

Bile rose in Liam's throat as he realised that those clopping sounds he had heard earlier whilst on the phone to Karl were DI Drake's high heels. She must have realised, getting the wrong end of the stick completely in the process, and run, taking Uncle Gene with her.

"Shit!" Liam cursed, slamming his hand down onto the bed frame and leaning his forehead on the cool, smooth surface of the wall behind it, his thoughts beginning to make little sense even to him with the amount of drama and stress that they were having to operate under. Gene and Alex could be anywhere, and he needed to find them to protect them, to keep them safe from the people he was consorting with for his uncle's life to be preserved.

Running out of the room, his mind swirling, Liam thudded straight into one of the guards, knocking them both over with the force of the impact; as he hauled himself and the guard up, the wind knocked from his lungs, Liam quietly took in the guard's crumpled lapels, as though one of his superiors had grabbed him by the said fabric and hoisted him to eye level.

"What 'appened to you?"

The guard glanced briefly down at his scrunched-up clothing, catching Liam's eye and quietly letting him know, as calm as ever but a hint of worry making its way into his gaze. Liam slumped against the wall, beginning to wonder if there was any hope for his uncle at all.

"What did 'e tell you?"

"He's sent a squad out for them. They'll probably catch them; the CCTV around the camp will tell us where they went. I'm sorry, Liam, I tried my best, but DI Drake wouldn't tell me anything and Gene wasn't speaking at all, just following her. They'll start suspecting me and then they'll be onto you like a bloodhound on a fox. We have to keep a low profile unless we want to be down in the cellars, locked up, until your uncle is dead and his DI with him!"

Liam bit his lip, nodding.

"I agree, but keeping a low profile isn't goin' to help if it means that Uncle Gene an' DI Drake escape an' are in more danger than ever, does it? Get your car keys, we'll go lookin' for them."

"How do we pass this off?"

"It's a favour for the boss. Means 'e doesn't have to go out and find them 'imself. I 'ate pretendin' to work for the bastard, but it's the only way it'll 'appen."

The guard nodded and reached round Liam to the door, yanking a set of keys from the drawer next to it and turning on his heel, straightening his lapels as the pair headed towards the car, seeming to glide over the frosty ground, exactly like Liam's co-conspirator from the hospital.

Heading towards the Hammers, Liam's instinct telling him that this well-known ground would be the kind of place Gene and Alex would reconvene to, the pair were silent, the guard still unworried but Liam's teeth physically chattering with tension and worry for the only member of family he really had left. Since Marian had been placed in her Home in Manchester with Alzheimer's making an onslaught into her sanity, Gene had been the only family Liam had been able to get close to, and since his mother barely even knew who he was anymore, he hadn't been visiting often, preferring to leave his emotions behind in Manchester and move on down in London; despite that, Liam was anxious not to lose the last link to his own flesh and blood he had and could truly treasure. The man he had admired for years, who had helped bring him up, who had been the shoulder to cry on when death had claimed his mother and mental degradation his grandmother. Liam knew he would never have another family member like Gene Hunt, and was desperate not to desert him, even if it meant friendliness with the worst of the criminal community.

A scream from DI Drake roused Liam from his anxious thoughts.

"They're there!"

The car slewed to a halt next to the Hammers just as another screamed away. Liam slammed his fists into the dashboard in frustration.

"No!"

* * *

This has got to be the craziest thing I've ever done, save for dressing up as a squirrel to get into my own office. Running from an MI5 camp, with my DI's hand clutching mine as though she was drowning and my palm was a lifejacket, my wrist and arm still sore from the drip and cardio band. I'm almost laughing with the absurdity of it all, but I'm past the point of being able to laugh or even talk properly due to my shortage of bloody oxygen.

"Can- we- slow- _down?_"

"We've got to keep going," Bolly replies swiftly, still yanking on my arm and hauling me behind her like a suitcase. Normally I would be indignant of her doing that, but I'm too preoccupied with wondering what all this is about and too out of breath to think about anything other than getting some air into my burning lungs.

"Bolly- stop- now- or I- die-"

It has the desired effect. Bolly drags me behind a wall, waiting for me to get my breath back, her eyes betraying her impatience.

"You know, Guv, if you didn't smoke and you exercised a little more, you wouldn't be having this problem…"

"I- don't- need- a- bloody- lecture," I wheeze. I've got no idea what having an asthma attack is like, but it must be quite close to how I'm feeling now.

"I'm offering you advice. Speaking of smoking, you haven't had a cigarette in days, have you?"

It's only then that it strikes me as well. I haven't had a fag since before I was abducted. Bloody hell… I must be going soft.

Before I can dwell on this thought any longer, Bolly's giving me a look and pulling me out again, setting off down the cold, deserted, dank streets towards the Hammers.

"Please let Chris be there with the Quattro, please let Chris be there with the Quattro," I beg in my head, not knowing who I'm addressing with it but just hoping that it comes true. I could do without being in grave peril again this week.

As we approach the gravel yard at the front of the Hammers, my eyes, having grown accustomed to the darkness, rake the area for a glint of red, a flash of a headlamp. I listen hard for the sound of a throbbing Audi engine, the anguished scream of tortured tyres on tarmac, but hear nothing. The Quattro's not here, and as of yet, nor is Chris.

Ducking behind another wall, into a grimy dustbin recess, the only thing Bolly and I can do is wait.

It finally strikes me how cold the night is. I shudder with the chill from the night air, feeling Bolly huddling close to me and drawing her coat closer around her shoulders, leaning against my body and wrapping the warm wool around my waist as well, feeling me shivering. The scent of her shampoo wafts up to me, and I breathe it in for the briefest of seconds, drawing some comfort from it, before reminding myself that Gene Hunt is not a poofter and that smelling women's hair is for men who moisturise and wear New Romantic cardigans, not for real men.

"Where the bloody 'ell are you, Chris?" I mutter, my teeth chattering. Clenching my jaw against the movement, I put an arm round Bolly's shoulders and try to glean more warmth from sharing the small amount of space with another living, breathing body.

Just as I begin to consider knocking on a door and telling them that I'm a supposedly dead copper and I'd like a scotch and some bloody warmth, the familiar squeal of mangled rubber slices through the icy air and a flash from friendly headlamps tells us that the Quattro is finally here.

Jumping out and rushing towards it, Bolly close at my heels, I can only feel relief that they're finally here, that we're safe.

A voice shrieks. I half-turn, confused, unsure.

The only thing that I see before blankness takes me over is a hand reaching out and clamping a handkerchief over my mouth, dragging me down into darkness before I can even struggle.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay, only I had a massive writer's block and I'm ill into the deal… ah well. Hope you enjoyed it, and please please please review! Thanks for reading. Jazzola :)


	12. Chapter 12

"_They all think he's dead anyway. We're just finishing the job."_

I can hear voices nearby as my head swims into a vague impression of consciousness, thumping away hatefully; I'm half expecting Kenneth Thurley to be there, eyes glinting manically, his hand reaching to his trouser zip and gently tugging it down…

But instead a friendly face is looking down on me; Bolly, her hand on mine, her eyes anxious and afraid, so unlike the gutsy Bolly I know that for a second I'm completely disorientated. Fear snakes into my gut, writhing and spitting into my insides as I see the tiny cell we've been put in, both of us chained to the wall by our ankles.

"Bloody 'ell… I'm gettin' used to this," I mutter, sitting up and immediately being knocked back by Bolly as she throws herself at me and hugs me.

_Jesus, Alex…_

"Gene," she sobs, her hands clutching at me like a monkey, her mascara running onto my neck as she buries her head there. Unsure exactly what to do, I just put my arms round her and let her cry, burying my nose in her hair and breathing in her sweet scent, trying to stop the desperate racing of my own heart.

"They're going to kill us, Gene, they said w-we couldn't live after this and they have Chris and Ray too and they're trying to find Shaz and Liam's betrayed us and we're not ever going to see the light of day again and I'll never ever see my daughter again…"

"Bolly… Bolly, calm down. We'll find a way out o' this, we always do- where's your super brain? The plan you always seem to come up wi'? We could bloody do wi' one right now!"

Bolly sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve, leaving a snail-trail of foundation on her black and red striped jumper. Reaching up to cradle her hand in mine, I lean back against the wall to try and stop my skull's insistent yelps of pain and calm her down, my fingers smoothing over her hand as she takes deep breaths and starts again.

"They're saying they're going to kill us soon. Mid-day, they say, and my watch says it's about seven in the morning. Liam betrayed us, he told them where we were and everything, he was in on it the whole time-"

I don't hear any more after that.

Liam. My own nephew, my flesh and blood, the one link I have left with my brother after his demise, the closest relative I have and the smiling little boy I helped grow up, betrayed me. I can feel the poison of that knowledge seeping into me, spreading throughout my body from my twisting, screaming heart, desolation following it and only stopping at my eyes, which are full of Bolly's hazel-flecked irises gazing into mine, and my hands, curled round her soft, trembling hands.

My throat gulps of its own accord; my eyes sting, but I blink back the liquid searing my eyelids. Now is not the time to be sobbing like a baby; Bolly has an excuse, in that she's feeling betrayed and hopeless and maybe a cry will help her, it always seemed to put the ex in a better mood. Although I used to wonder if she ever had better moods or if it was constantly "You need to get home earlier, Gene!" or "You have to cut down on this drinking, it's not good for you, Gene" or "How many times is that now that you've come in with a bloody nose from whacking into the lamp-post on your way in, you stupid bloody fool?". I always hated that bloody lamp-post.

"Gene?"

Bolly's voice is almost timid as she reaches out to me again, her free hand making its way to my cheek and stroking along my sideburn, her watery eyes fixed on mine.

"Bolly."

And that's enough to set her off again.

"We have to get out of here, Gene… but I c-can't think how… and I'm letting you down, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Bolly," I whisper urgently, hearing footsteps coming towards us, feeling her tense with fear and holding her close still. "Bolly, stop it, none o' this is your fault. We 'ave to keep going, get out o' 'ere, yeah? We'll figure somethin' out, we always do. Whatever 'appens, I'm so, so thankful to you for gettin' me out from Thurley's place, an'- an' you're goin' to be safe. Even if it means that I 'ave to die, if it'll save you, it's worth it. Stay strong, as me mam always said. Not goin' to bother with the advice from Dad, it was just "drink lots an' shag any woman goin'" wi' 'im."

Bolly gives the ghost of a smile, leaning forwards to press her lips to mine before we're forced apart and the silhouettes of two men are above us, glaring eyes taking us in, shining with triumph and hatred.

"Lovebirds in 'ere, might want to think about separatin' these two!"

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to punch them in the face, knowing that if I did that, I'd be dead before you could say "temper temper". Bolly's grip tightens on my hand, and I avert my gaze, feeling the victorious grin of the men in the doorway.

A soft sound from the corridor. I raise my head a tiny amount, straining to make out more-

"AH!"

Jerking my head up, I see Chris and Ray miraculously appearing in the light from a torch, the two oppressors falling to the floor, the lantern smashing next to them in a cascade of sparks and splinters of glass, the sound disturbingly beautiful as the glittering shards settle on the concrete floor.

I look up at the two men, my saviours, the winners of the fight, the new captors.

"Now that you've done that, can you get these bastard chains off?"

Breaking into huge grins, Chris and Ray yank the keys from one of the men's belt and click them into the padlocks on the wall, freeing Bolly and I.

Bolly just falls against the wall as she stands up, still sobbing, her hair dishevelled and lank and her eyes beseeching of me; I reach over and hold her, feeling her forehead against my chest, wondering in the revelation that even though by rights she should have looked like shit, to me she was still the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Is Ma'am OK, Guv?" Chris asks, edging forwards, concern written all over his face. Which makes a nice change from the gormless expression it normally sports.

"She'll be fine. Just needs a drink. Bloody 'ell, doesn't sound bad for me either."

"You're on non-alcohol medication," Bolly reminds me quietly, looking up at me for the briefest second before dropping her head back onto my shirt again.

"Bloody spoilsport."

A watery chuckle comes from somewhere on my chest.

"Chris, Ray, anywhere you saw where we could get out o' 'ere while you were gettin' 'ere?" I ask, knowing that our time is running out fast; soon they'll twig that the men sent to keep us under lock and key are having a little doze on the floor instead and come for us.

Ray shakes his head, but Chris nods, his bleached hair falling over his face, looking like a particularly shaggy dog. Despite looking like an idiot, the movement is so familiar that I have to bite back a grin at seeing it.

"There was an exit door a little way along, they couldn' see it from any o' the main rooms- we can use that!"

A smile forces its way onto my face at the thought of our escape being this easy; no complications seem to be arising yet, anyway.

"Well, what're we sittin' 'ere chattin' for then?"

Pushing myself up and ignoring the ache of my protesting skull, I start along the passage, Bolly's hand still in mine and Chris and Ray following, turning every so often to check we're not being followed, we haven't been discovered. The narrow, dim tunnels feel claustrophobic, oppressive, and I grit my teeth as I see various slogans written in crude graffiti on the walls: "KILL THE PIGS, WHEREVER THEY MIGHT BE", "OINK OINK, TIME FOR THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE", and on one corner, "HUNT IS THE FIRST TO DIE". Bile rises in my throat, stinging at the back of my mouth, but I swallow it back and press on, knowing that our time is limited before they're onto us.

Chris cries out with relief as we round a corner and a pinprick of light greets us, a little way along the corridor, shining as brightly as a sun in the almost cruel dark around us.

"I thought we might've come the wrong way…"

Ray tuts at Chris, muttering "you div", but my thoughts are too preoccupied with the door; for once, Wonder Chris has come up trumps, and we're about to get out of here.

Bolly advances towards the pinprick, her face shining, the tear tracks on her gaunt cheeks shining in the restricted light. Her hand in mine gives me all the courage I need to advance as well, and I step with her, the clack of her heels accompanying the thud of my boots as we move towards the escape route, the place of safety that we have found…

"AAH!"

Swerving abruptly, we see that Chris has tripped over his own feet behind us. The dot of light abruptly becomes a doorway, illuminated harshly, making us wince at it; Chris has been leading us towards the main common room of the organisation.

We turn round and look at each other, Chris's face sheepish, Ray's exasperated, Bolly's an "I-should-have-known-but-you-could-have-not-screwed-up-for-once-in-your-life" expression, and I can tell, mine thunderous.

And then the angry voices ring out and Bolly screams.

"RUN!"

Turning and fleeing, I catch only the briefest, fleeting glimpse of the people pouring from the room, but one of them chills my mind, shutting down my emotions and then pouring them back into me; Liam, my nephew, is running towards us, yelling at the top of his voice, words that I don't catch but still send a shiver of betrayal down my spine…

And then we're just running and the only thing I can think any more is to get away, get away, and see through the blurring that has developed in my eyes.

* * *

Typical Chris, leading us to the common room of the organisation. But you can't really blame him for thinking it was a way out; a door-shaped area of light generally equates to an exit.

Still, whose fault it is doesn't matter so much when you're sprinting for your life and the lives of your friends from hordes of angry men pursuing us down the dark, slippery corridors of the labyrinth we've found ourselves in. Chris and Ray are a little way ahead of us, and I'm lagging behind with Gene, both of us out of breath, my hand grasping his as we stagger and help each other along, a real team effort to keep up with the rest of our team. Chris and Ray pause and grab us as well, urging us on, Chris propelling me forward and Ray almost tugging on the Guv as he wheezes and forces himself to put one foot in front of the other.

After a while, the tunnel conditions improve; the slippery element of the floor is gone, the walls a little wider apart. We pause briefly, getting our breath back and our bearings in the maze, trying to plan where we should go next, Chris and Ray trying to remember where the entrance is from when they were brought in and whether anyone was there. I rack my brains for anything, but there's nothing between the sour-smelling cloth when we were at the Hammers and the dank cell here.

A yell. A clatter of feet.

Someone grabs me from behind, knocking my feet out from under me, pressing the devilishly cold barrel of a gun to my head, focusing it on my temple. I scream, but it does me no good; they have me and they know it.

The heavy breathing of Peter Harrows comes to my ears, foul-scented and triumphant, his hair brushing against my skin as he pants, his grip firm on my arms.

"Thought you could trust me, didn't you, Alex?"

Ray clenches his fists in front of me, his face darkening, taking on pure rage; Chris makes a grinding noise with his teeth, Gene beside him about to erupt with fury but keeping it in with a huge effort.

Peter Harrows grins.

"I'll give you a choice, Gene. Her or you. One of you dies now."

* * *

A/N: Dun-dun-dunnnn! ;) Hope you like it! Sorry about the delay, but writer's block and mourning struck me- mourning for the fire near where I live, which destroyed three shops and damaged another. RIP River Island- I will miss you :( Anyway- please review, and I hope this was up to scratch! Jazzola :)


	13. Chapter 13

My heart seems to stop as I meet Bolly's eyes.

I know, without looking up, that the person holding her is DS Peter Harrows. I recognise him as the medic who treated me when I was given the overdose; somehow, in my heart, I'd thought that he was somehow on our side, someone we could trust.

I was wrong.

My terror melts into anguish as I see the fright and devastation in Bolly's eyes; more than betrayal, I know that she's feeling about a million emotions as the barrel of the gun presses against her smooth temple, a temple I've pressed my lips to countless times, the cold stark metal an unwelcome intrusion into her beauty. All I want is to help her, save her.

A little voice in my head whispers that I'm being a poof. I ignore it. For once in my life, I have to lay down the façade, give up and just do what I want.

Moving forwards a step, I reach out with both hands, holding them close to each other, my wrists within tying distance of each other.

"Go on then. Take me."

* * *

"GENE, NO!"

My scream echoes through the passage, as though a hundred mes were crying out at once; my heart shudders as I watch him, battle-scarred, weakened by the fight, offering himself as a- a bribe- for my freedom. He is prepared to give everything to save me, and I bite back bile at the thought of exactly what everything means here.

Gene meets my eyes one more time, and the desperation in his gaze casts me into silence for a few seconds.

"If you wan' me, then you can 'ave me. But I'm warnin' you, I won't come withou' a fight."

Harrows grins; I can tell from his voice when he speaks.

"Alright then, Mr Hunt. I'll fight you for it."

He walks forwards and presses his gun to Gene's stomach.

He's not prepared for Gene's knee coming up and hitting him in the gentleman's area just as the gun fires, winding him and certainly causing some damage to his privates. Wheezing, gasping with pain, his hand travelling to his special area, Harrows drops to the floor, only making a weak attempt to grab Gene's leg as the victor skirts past him, unable to hesitate one last kick, and heads off with the rest of us.

"Well, that's one way to do it," I gasp, stumbling into the next tunnel and running along with the others, a flash of light from a rare ceiling light illuminating a streak of red on Gene's side. I catch my breath harshly, stopping in my tracks, cold shock slamming through me as the image of Harrows holding a gun point-blank to Gene's body thrusts itself into my mind's eye. "Gene- he hit you!"

"A graze," Gene replies dismissively, seeing the uncertainty in my face and pushing his shirt up to reveal a shallow cut running from his chest to his hip, bleeding but not severe. Chris exhales with relief and Ray chuckles.

"Always was a lucky sod, Guv."

Gene smiles, dropping his shirt again and following the rest of us along the passage, focusing on getting out of here, although I know from the troubled expression that flits across his face that he's still mourning the betrayal of Liam.

A left turn... a right... straight ahead at a three-way fork... the journey seems to take forever as we stumble on, eyes raking the darkness for any clue of an exit, the faintest trace of an escape route. Several times we end up where we started, or pass landmarks we know we've been across before; hope begins to seep away, but every time Gene's skin brushes against mine or his hand gives mine a welcome squeeze, the aches and tortures of the escapade we've found ourselves on seem worthwhile. If it saves the life of this remarkable man I've found myself with, it's all good with me.

I'm so engrossed in the task at hand that I don't notice the silhouette standing just behind the corner in front of us, watching, waiting, sombre.

* * *

"Uncle Gene."

Liam's voice catches me completely unaware; I swerve round, seeing him lit up by a torch, half of his face in shadow but his eyes glittering intently.

He takes a step towards me. I back away, unsure of where this is going, wary of the man who has put me through so much.

"No, Uncle Gene, wait!"

The fright in his voice catches me unawares. I freeze in my tracks, my eyes meeting his, a little shiver of recognition sliding through me as he raises the torch and his bright blue eyes slide into illumination.

Voices sound in the tunnel behind him. Bolly slaps her hand over her mouth to trap her scream in there. I grab her arm, ready to bolt at any second, my breathing halted abruptly. Ray and Chris grab each other; I feel a small stab of amusement at the sight.

Liam turns, seemingly completely unconcerned.

"I saw 'em goin' tha' way! I'm goin' to guard the north exit. You lot go after 'em."

A shout confirms Liam's plan has been accepted. Footsteps thunder away from us, fading dramatically as the makers head towards what I assume is the south. Liam turns back, relief coating his features, his hand reaching out to grab my forearm. I pull myself back, still unsure of who to trust in this. Liam's eyes burn with hurt.

"I've just saved you an' your friends, Uncle Gene. Doesn't tha' prove to you tha' I'm on your side?"

A flicker of trust makes its way into my mind. Slowly, hesitantly, I step forwards, letting Liam advance, allowing him to grasp my skin and then pull me into a hug, burying his face in my shoulder, just as he did when he was a child. Memories engulf me for a few long seconds, but before I can relax in their luxury, Liam has released me and is heading in the direction we had just come from, beckoning for us to follow.

"Come on, there's an exit up 'ere. You can use it to get away, I'll radio CID and get 'em to send some cars to pick you up."

With no choice but to trust him, and a sure feeling in my gut that it was the right choice, I follow Liam, Bolly clutching me as though I'm the most precious thing in the world, a grin on her lips as we watch Chris and Ray come back to their senses, look round at each other and almost leap away from each other with looks of horror and embarrassment on their faces, each mumbling an apology to the other and rubbing their hands on their trousers as though they were dirty.

"Come on, Chris, Ray. Don't want to miss all the excitement, do you?" Bolly calls back softly, bringing them rushing towards us with looks on their faces that told us we were dead meat if we mentioned this little incident in CID.

* * *

Something in Gene's demeanour tells me that he is laying his trust on Liam; my own trust in Gene's judgement prompts me to follow him, with Chris and Ray in tow. Liam's quick, assured walk tells us that he knows these tunnels from experience, and that he knows without doubt where he is going, which is reassuring but also compounds any small doubts I have left in my head about him.

When he opens an exit and reveals a scrubby area of parkland next to an estate, with no people in sight except for a little girl sitting on a swing in her back garden, all doubts flee.

Blinking in the bright sunshine, I clamber out of the tunnel, helping Gene up after me and letting him lean against me as Liam pulls the police radio I'd had on me in the hospital from his pocket and tells CID to bring at least three cars to the Old Sycamore Estate to pick up DCI Gene Hunt, DI Alex Drake, DS Ray Carling and DC Chris Skelton and take them back to the station. I protest half-heartedly that someone should take Gene back to hospital, but Liam just hisses that as long as Gene's safe, it doesn't really matter, and switches the radio off. Giving up, I sit down next to Ray, leaning back against the trunk of an ancient oak tree, bent over like a work-worn old woman, sheltering us from the rain that has begun to stream down from the heavens. Although my ears strain at the area around us, I can hear no footsteps approaching, no threatening yells or yelps of pain; we are alone. Although I still don't know what is happening with Liam, he appears to be on our side at least, and that's what really matters.

Then the cold seeps in through my clothes and I shift over to huddle against Gene, feeling him suppress a shiver and smirking under my breath. His arm snakes round my waist and I rest my chin on his shoulder, knowing that Ray and Chris are watching but not caring anymore; I would gladly let the whole world know about our relationship now, just as long as I could stay holding Gene forever.

I refuse to let go of him even when the squad cars turn up and we're bundled in, wrapped in blankets and with the heating cranked up as high as possible. The only time I let go of my hold of him is when they tell me they need to put a bandage round the graze on his side to stop it bleeding quite as badly; even then, I keep my hand in his and my head rested on his chest, smiling to myself at the steady drum of his heartbeat. Finally, the Manc Lion is safe, and I can relax.

I fall asleep in Gene's embrace, sniffing back tears of relief, his warmth on my skin and his scent infusing my senses as I drift away.

* * *

Bolly's fallen asleep on me, I can tell from her slow breathing and her relaxation. Her nose is just above my collar, the tip gently brushing my clavicle bone, her touch soft. I smile as I remember how hysteric she was when she woke up with us chained to the wall of that cell, her ankle in a metal restraint and me unconscious on the other side of the cell, and compare it to her total and utter calmness now, her tiny smile as she dreams, the tranquillity that rarely seems to come through in her normal life.

Her face as she was held hostage by Peter Harrows flashes into my mind, the terror in the brown-flecked irises I'd come to love. I'd just wanted to punch Harrows' scrawny face in then, kick him and hit him and make him hurt as much as he'd made us hurt. Looking at what'd happened, I guess that his ulterior motive for keeping me alive after the overdose was that he'd be able to grab some of the glory for killing me, make my execution more public and work his way up in the stakes of the people at the organisation. Clenching both fists, I focus on Bolly's warmth instead, banishing all thoughts of death and destruction and the organisation from my head for just a few seconds.

Ray pokes his head in to tell me that the plod are going to take me back to the Royal London for treatment, and that they and Bolly would be coming with me for check-ups. Liam, he adds as an afterthought, was coming along with us as well. I nod, wondering when I'll next be able to talk to Liam and sort out exactly what happened.

The plod car starts up, and Bolly stirs sleepily, nestling further into my flesh and kissing my neck before closing her eyes again. I smile at her, leaning my own head on hers and closing my eyes, willing sleep to gently take me away from the world for a few minutes, just until I was in the hospital and I knew I was safe.

I fall asleep entwined with my DI, her body pressed against mine and her presence coating all my senses as I glide into pleasant oblivion.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this chapter has taken so long, exams and my grandmother's been in hospital and my computer's packed up... not a good combo for writing time. Ah well... please review! Many thanks. Jazzola :)


	14. Chapter 14

"Coming, Gene?"

Gene pushes the screen across to reveal himself, dressed once again in his customary suit and tie, his warrant card in one hand and the Quattro keys in the other. Liam makes a whistling noise from the other side of the room and Gene mock-glares at him, stuffing his things into pockets and straightening the tie, staring at himself in the mirror.

"Weeks since I've worn a bloody tie."

"One week," I correct him, smiling. He looks better than he has in days, finally returning to CID to be surrounded by his department once again. Liam rattles the pill jar at him and he pouts, snatching them from his nephew's hand and swigging them down with a mouthful of water.

"Bleurgh... when can I 'ave some bloody whisky?"

"When you're well enough and off medication, it plays havoc with your system," I tell him firmly, stowing the pills back and pretending to miss his mouthing of "nag-nag-nag" to Liam, who hides a snigger.

"Ready?"

He jingles the keys in his pocket, heading towards the door of my flat and giving Liam a manly one-armed hug as he goes. It's his nephew's final day here; he sets off for Manchester tomorrow.

Liam had been working as a double agent to ensure Gene's safety, pretending to be one of the organisation (simply named Kill The Pigs, or KTP for short) to find out their plans for hurting his uncle and make sure we knew about them before they came to fruition. He was too late to stop the initial kidnapping and such, but everything appears to have turned out OK and thanks to some digging by Randy Torfield (long time no see, Randy), and half a cellar of wine, we have the names of the rest of KTP and the ringleaders, plus evidence to send each and every one down. Fenchurch Scrubs is full to bursting.

The doorbell rings just as we are about to leave, and Luigi bursts in, trying to pull Gene into a hug as he splutters and tries to dissuade the Italian, protesting a headache and failing miserably as Luigi attaches himself to his midriff and begins a stream of half-English, half-Italian which nobody can understand.

"Submit, Gene, it's much easier," I laugh, prising a very happy Luigi off as Gene recovers. I'm conscious of the fact that it might bring back unwanted memories from Kenneth Thurley's house, but that seems to be the thing furthest from Gene's mind as he accepts a bottle of single malt as a gift from Luigi and Liam snatches it off him. A new face creeps round the door, and a fresh Mancunian accent rings out.

"Guv, yer comin'?"

"Whether the scum are ready or not, Ray," Gene replies, sneaking a hip-flask into his pocket and raising his eyebrows at Ray, daring him to contradict. I tell myself that I'll get that off him at work and pick up a couple of case files waiting by the door, waving goodbye to Liam and ushering everyone out, very mindful of the fact that time is flying and the Super wants to see Gene in his office ASAP.

Gene greets the Quattro almost like an old friend as he slides into the driver's seat, smoothing his hands over the steering wheel, fingering the gear stick lovingly as his other hand finds the keys and gently slots them into the ignition. The car is his normality, something he hasn't had much of for a while; I can understand him wanting to get back to it, but rushing could bring its own problems.

Pretending I'm radioing the Super to find out exactly when he wants to meet Gene, I slip out of the car and back up the stairs for a second, watching Ray making his own way to CID ahead of us, my voice dropping as I press the transmit button.

"Everything ready?"

"Yes, Ma'am," whispers Shaz's voice. "Everythin' and everyone in place."

"Good. He's coming now."

"OK, Ma'am. Over an' out."

I hurry back, tucking the radio into my pocket as I do so, and plop into the passenger seat of the Quattro, putting my hand on top of Gene's as he makes to change gear.

Back to normal.

* * *

"Right then," I mutter to myself as we draw up outside the familiar police station, my foot stamping on the brakes, the Quattro instantly responding, sliding to a halt gracefully. I give the steering wheel a pat and stand up, praying to a God I don't really believe in that my legs will hold out and I won't suddenly become faint or anything like that. Last thing I want on my first day is to be ferried back to the bloody hospital again.

Bolly jumps out of the passenger seat, trying to hold onto my hand as we go in. I glare at her, tempted to hiss something smutty but holding my tongue. I don't want her in a strop before we're even in CID. Now that would be annoying. Viv salutes me as we walk in; embarrassed, I nod at him and Alex walks in front of me, leading the way to my department. If she could see my pulse rate now I would be hiding my face.

Bloody hell, I am going soft. Hiding my face? Only when I've had one too many and thrown up over some tart's shoes. And only then so that she can't collar me and make me pay for them.

Everything seems so normal as I walk through the corridors, the sound of my boots clacking against the floor echoing, the concrete unwelcoming but familiar. Hard to believe I've been away for so long, but I have and it's strange.

Bolly makes another grasp for my hand, and this time I let her, hoping I can just let go before we go into CID. The feeling of her smooth, warm fingers on mine is something to be savoured, but I can't let the others see. Even the supposedly dead version of the Manc Lion has a reputation to uphold.

Someone's talking inside the room as we approach the double doors, sub-consciously lining up as always; the team need to know who's in charge, how better than a nice dramatic entrance? I hold my hands out, ready to burst in like always.

Something blinds me from behind.

* * *

"Bolly, what the bloody 'ell?"

I laugh out loud, my hands over Gene's eyes. He struggles to get them off, and I can feel his eyelashes against my palms as he blinks rapidly, his hands finding mine and tugging.

"Leave it, Gene. Just stand still."

"Bolly, if yer think I'm goin' inter CID on my first day back blinded by some daft tart, yer got another- ow!"

The "ow" comes as I shove him through the door, my knee in the small of his back to, er, prompt him. I signal as his elbow hits the door and the lights go off, plunging CID into darkness for Gene's big arrival.

"What are yer playin' at, DI Drake?" Gene asks wearily, trying again to get my hands off his eyes and failing miserably. He sticks his tongue out to try and use that as a weapon as well, but despite being so silver and cutting it's not long enough to find my hand.

"Just accept the darkness, DCI Hunt. And in we go..."

I push him with my body and he takes an obliging step forwards, his jaw set in determination; he wants to foil my plans, I can tell. He hisses as I take my fingers away from his face and reveal the still, pitch-black CID.

"Bolls, where is everyone an' what is this game about?"

"For you to figure out, Gene," I say, skirting round him and trying not to be obvious at all in glancing towards his office. It appears to have failed miserably, as Gene's eyes flick from my face to the glass panels in milliseconds, the sound of snakeskin boot on black and white carpet thudding through the department. Someone whoops from the kitchenette and Gene swerves, squinting, trying to make something out in the gloom.

"Someone's in the kitchen, and someone else is in my office."

"Take a look. It's your department."

He takes a single step forward, looking round at both places before quickening his step towards his office.

_To the office..._

The door squeaks as it opens, and I try to hide my giggles as Gene walks over to his desk, glaring at it, putting his hand on the wooden top as though he expects it to have mutated into metal while he's been away. Shaz splutters from the kitchenette and he looks up, abandoning it once again, going with his gut instinct.

A light shines from under the desk and he yells.

* * *

"Bloody fuckin' 'ell!"

Once I've recovered from having a bloody torch shone in my face from under my desk, I take a proper look. Chris and Ray are crouched together under the desk, torch in hand, both looking guilty.

"Sorry, Guv, we spoiled yer surprise," Chris says, looking sheepish. Ray gives him the usual scathing look.

"Well, 'e did. Fightin' over the torch. It was supposed ter be fer when the lights came on, yer div!"

"I couldn' see," Chris complains, pushing Ray's knee out from dangerously close to his crotch. I can feel the smile on my face growing just at the sight of my DS and DC under my desk having a petty argument over a torch.

"Just turn the damn lights on," Shaz sighs from the kitchenette, stepping out and flicking the light switch to reveal CID, neater than I've ever seen it, filled with my department brandishing balloons and banners, giving out one synchronised (or maybe not, I think some of the DCs have opened the party booze early) yell of "WELCOME BACK, GUV!"

I try to force the smile off my face, but my bloody traitor mouth won't let me and instead makes it widen. No fault of my own.

I step out of the office, letting Chris and Ray struggle up and straighten their clothes a little, lifting my chin up, home once again.

"Right then, 'oo's got the booze? Some single malt would be greatly appreciated."

"Not on your medication, Gene," Bolly says from the doorway, brandishing a banner herself and walking over to kiss my cheek. I let her wind her arms round me and cock my head to one side, looking down at her, wanting nothing more than to kiss her. Sod the consequences, she looks better than any single malt could ever.

"Well then," I say, dipping my head down slightly to meet hers. "It 'ad better be something equally tasty, then."

And the office erupts into applause and cheering as I press my lips to hers.

* * *

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay on this- I hope you'll forgive me! Please remember to review, and thank you so much for reading. Goodbye, A Lion In Distress! Jazzola :)


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